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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23947396">Chicken Soup for the Spider Soul</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/badideababe/pseuds/badideababe'>badideababe</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alpha Wade Wilson, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Biting, Come Swallowing, Coming Untouched, Dead May Parker (Spider-Man), Depression, Dry Humping, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Porn, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mental Health Issues, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Peter Parker, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Scent Marking, Social Commentary, Touch-Starved, eventual identity reveal</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-03 01:09:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>21,981</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23947396</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/badideababe/pseuds/badideababe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter’s been having a pretty rough go of things ever since Aunt May died. All he wants to do right now is buy himself a depression meal and go the fuck home. Instead, he gets cornered in the soup aisle by his nosy patrol partner, Deadpool, who by all accounts should not have any reason to speak to boring old Peter Parker.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Peter Parker/Wade Wilson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>185</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1000</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>In terms of Peter Parker’s backstory/relationships, this story most closely relates to The Amazing Spider-Man films, but I have cherry-picked bits of canon from other sources as well (such as Aunt May’s death in the PS4 video game and Lady Death from the Deadpool comics).</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Did somebody order a clown?”</p><p>The voice was loud, familiar, and directly behind Peter. Already dreading whatever was about to happen, he turned and found himself face-to-chest with a recognizable red suit. Per usual, it smelled faintly of blood.</p><p>“I can’t make a balloon animal more complex than, say, a human penis,” Deadpool continued, “but I’m pretty sure I have one of those water-squirty flower pins somewhere in these pouches.”</p><p> “Uh, what?” He asked dumbly, wishing he had his mask on to conceal the dread creeping over him. If Deadpool had somehow discovered Spider-Man’s secret identity, he wouldn’t out him in the middle of a grocery store full of civilians, right? Peter always figured that nightmare scenario would end with Deadpool auctioning the info off to the highest bidder.</p><p>“Aw, don’t be scared, College.” Deadpool gently honked Peter’s nose. “I’m basically Spider-Man’s sidekick! And as a hero-in-training, it’s my solemn duty to cheer you the fuck up, because you smell about one spilled milk away from suicide and it’s really freaking everybody out.”</p><p>Peter glanced around, perplexed, and saw that many of the other shoppers were indeed casting uneasy looks in their direction. It wasn’t a large store, but it was packed with the usual rush-hour traffic, and Peter’s heightened senses were very much not enjoying the overwhelming jumble of scents and sounds.</p><p>“Are you sure <em>you’re </em>not the one freaking them out? Also, since when does Spider-Man have a mercenary sidekick?”</p><p>Peter preferred to think of their current arrangement as something closer to babysitting. Deadpool had approached Spider-Man a few months back, claiming to have turned over a new leaf and begging to shadow him so he could “learn from the best”. Clearly, Peter’s bleeding heart had gotten him in trouble again. Deadpool had probably been planning this from the start.</p><p>“He knows who we are!” Deadpool exclaimed in delight. “And here I am, caught without my pearls and fluffy autograph-signing pen! But don’t worry, my killer-for-hire days are behind me. Strictly vegan mercing from here on out. Or maybe it’s closer to vegetarian, since Spidey lets me get away with some light maiming if the situation calls for it. <em>Anyway</em>, it’s definitely you, College. Don’t try to smelt-it-dealt-it on me. You’ve got so much distressed omega smell coming off you, I can practically see the cartoon stink lines.”</p><p>Huh. This conversation wasn’t going where he thought it was.</p><p>Peter frowned and gave a perfunctory sniff to the scent glands on one of his wrists, only to realize that Deadpool was actually right. Jesus, no wonder that older alpha lady had given him a hug and paid for his hotdog at lunch! <em>You remind me of my grandson</em>, his ass. Peter’s scent was practically screaming his unhappiness at everyone with a working nose. It was probably only social nicety that had prevented some well-meaning stranger from wrapping him up in a blanket and cooing at him. Instead, he got to be confronted by Deadpool, an alpha whose social graces pointed to being raised by wolves.</p><p>“Shit,” Peter muttered, self-consciously tugging his old college sweater lower over his hands. “My usual brand of scent blockers got dropped by my insurance...”</p><p>“Well, your new one sucks,” Deadpool informed him cheerfully. “But aside from that, what’s got you all bothered in the not-so-hot way? C’mon, step into Dr. Pool’s office and tell me everything. Nothing says spontaneous therapy session like the soup aisle.”</p><p>“Ignoring, for the moment, the fact that you are in no way a licensed therapist— I’m <em>fine</em>,” Peter lied, edging towards the checkout line. “Just tired. And hungry.” And stressed, paranoid, lonely, touch-starved...</p><p>“Is that dinner?” Deadpool asked, indicating the single pack of ramen in Peter’s hands.</p><p>“Yep.” Ah, chicken ramen, the flavor of depression and student loan debt.</p><p>“Not anymore it isn’t!” Deadpool karate-chopped the small package out of Peter’s hands and threw an arm around his shoulders, tucking him into the alpha’s side and herding him out of the store. “Dinner’s my treat! What’re you in the mood for? If you had your heart set on ramen, I know the cutest little hole-in-the-wall a few blocks over. Perfect place for a first date.” Deadpool’s mask winked.</p><p>“Uh,” Peter floundered, his exhausted brain grasping for some sort of excuse and coming up empty.</p><p>Deadpool must have noticed his internal struggle, because his voice was a lot softer and surprisingly soothing when he said, “Hey, if you want me to leave you alone, I will. Just let me pay for your dinner first, okay? It’s what Spidey would want me to do, I know it.” He brought up the hand not around Peter’s shoulders, proudly displaying a What Would Jesus Do style wristband, but with a Spider-Man sticker in place of the J.</p><p>Against his better judgment, Peter felt himself softening. Maybe letting Deadpool follow him around on patrols these past few months hadn’t been a complete waste of time after all. Maybe Deadpool really was trying to turn over a new leaf. And maybe Deadpool’s heavy, warm arm pressing him into an even warmer body felt frustratingly good in contrast to the biting October air.</p><p>“It’s okay,” Peter conceded. “We can do dinner. Who am I to argue with what Spider-Man would want?”</p><p>“That’s the spirit!” Deadpool crowed. “In Spidey we trust!”</p><p>*</p><p>Somehow, Peter managed to talk Deadpool into going for Italian. That did not, however, stop the alpha from whining about his craving for empanadas the entire way there.</p><p>It wasn’t that Peter didn’t like empanadas; it was just that Deadpool had, without fail, bought Spider-Man a snack after every single one of their patrols, and those peace offerings tended to take the form of Mexican food truck fare. Peter was obviously in no position to complain about the free food, but he wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity to get a little variety in his diet.</p><p>When they first walked into the bustling little restaurant that Deadpool had steered them to, Peter was convinced they’d be in for at least a half-hour wait, but the hostess (“Anna,” declared her nametag) took one look at Deadpool and led them straight back to a private little nook away from the main seating area.</p><p>“Best seat in the house!” Deadpool cheered, collapsing into the single booth and pulling Peter down next to him. “You’re the man, Ann!”</p><p>“If you trip someone again, I will seat you out back with the trash,” she warned in a lovely, lilting Italian accent.</p><p>“Like Lady and the Tramp! That is <em>so</em> romantic. Will Angelo come play accordion for us and everything?”</p><p>Anna smacked him over the head with a menu before thrusting it into his gloved hands. “No trouble! I mean it!” Then she turned to regard Peter, who blushed when she very visibly softened in response to his distressed scent. He really must smell like the world is ending for her to have noticed over all the other restaurant smells. “Don’t worry,” she said, handing Peter his own menu much less violently. “If he is bad, I will kick him out, but let you stay.”</p><p>“What the shit!” Deadpool protested as she bustled away. “How is he the favorite already? He hasn’t even said two words to you!”</p><p>“Maybe that’s why she likes me so much. After you, I’m like a breath of fresh air.”</p><p>“Don’t you get fresh with me, College! Anna, come back, he’s being mean to me!”</p><p>“For the love of god, please stop calling me College,” Peter said. “I graduated like five years ago and now that word just makes me think of all my unpaid student loans. I’m Peter.”</p><p>“Hello, Peter.” Deadpool’s voice was suddenly much deeper, cutting through the background noise, and Peter couldn’t repress a shudder at the sound of Spider-Man’s real name rolling off the mercenary’s tongue. “College grad, money problems, god-awful scent blockers, tired, hungry. The pieces are coming together. What else? Am I detecting a whiff of tragic backstory up in all this mess?”</p><p>“Pretty sure what you’re smelling right now is veal piccata,” Peter hedged as a waiter passed them with a tray full of food that made his mouth water.</p><p>“Veal <em>is</em> pretty tragic,” Deadpool agreed. “It’s beef, but it’s <em>baby</em>. So sad, yet so delightfully tender.”</p><p>“Title of your sex tape,” Peter said, finally cracking a smile and his menu.</p><p>Deadpool stared at him for several seconds before shoving his nose into his own menu. “Shut up, Yellow,” he muttered. “And don’t say <em>pegged</em>, you’ll turn me on.”</p><p>Against his will, Peter’s smile widened.</p><p>*</p><p>“Is it possible to overdose on pasta?” Peter wondered aloud through a mouthful of lasagna. “If I go into a carb coma, you’ve got my permission to pull the plug. Do not resuscitate.”</p><p>“Goes double for me, Petey,” Deadpool agreed, barely understandable around cheeks bulging with fettuccini alfredo. “Does it mean less if I can’t die though?”</p><p>Peter shrugged and continued working his way through a truly formidable amount of food. “God, this is just as good as Aunt May’s.”</p><p>“Don’t let Angelo hear you say that; he’ll have a fit.”</p><p>“It’s a compliment! May could only cook like four things, but those were the <em>best</em> four things you’d ever eat. She always said I was her pride and joy, but we both knew that was actually her lasagna, and I couldn’t even be mad about it. It was that good.”</p><p>“I’m noticing a lot of past tense there, Petey-pie,” Deadpool said casually, as if his words didn’t make Peter’s stomach drop at the reminder. “Do I spy another piece of your tragic backstory puzzle?”</p><p>“Wow,” Peter said, unable to stop himself from going on the defensive. “You’re a regular Sherlock Holmes. Why don’t you do me and everyone else a favor, and use some of your blood money to buy a little <em>tact</em>?”</p><p>He regretted the harsh words as soon as they were out of his mouth. The resulting silence was loud and painful, and Peter found himself unable to look at Deadpool as he pushed around the food on his plate. Their little standoff ended not even a minute in (though it felt like ages to Peter) when guilt got the better of him.</p><p>“Sorry,” he muttered, chancing a glance up at Deadpool’s uncharacteristically blank mask. “That was... I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry.”</p><p>There was a beat of silence and then the alpha gave himself a full-body shake, like a dog coming in from the rain. “Touchy subject; read you loud and clear, sweetums,” he chirped. “So, speaking of Sherlock Holmes, Spidey and I were detective-ing the other day—”  </p><p>While Deadpool launched into an animated retelling of their recent recon mission, Peter slowly relaxed and went back to his dinner. The merc’s version of events was riddled with inaccuracies and embellishments, but he was an engaging storyteller, and Peter had a surprisingly enjoyable time during the rest of their meal together. When they were both finished, Deadpool called their waiter back over to order one of everything from the dessert menu despite Peter’s (half-hearted at best) protests about being full.</p><p>“Trust me, Petey, you’ll change your tune when you catch of whiff of ol’ Angie’s fresh tiramisu,” Deadpool assured him. His mask was still shoved up around his nose, and the small amount of visible skin was wafting a deliciously comforting alpha scent that had tricked Peter’s tired body into feeling safe and calm. It didn’t help that the restaurant was warm, the body heat radiating off Deadpool was warmer, and Peter was pleasantly full for the first time in forever.</p><p>The alpha was still talking, but his tone seemed gentler, more of a soothing rumble than anything, and it took Peter’s sluggish brain a few seconds to realize that a question was being asked of him: “So, I know I’ve overstepped a lot of bounds already – and you’ve been <em>such</em> a good sport – but I gotta ask... are you in some sort of trouble, Pete?”</p><p>“Trouble?” Peter blinked back at him, feeling stupid and slow. “How do you mean?”</p><p>“Not particularly encouraging that the answer isn’t an outright no,” Deadpool commented. “But I mean any kind of trouble, big or small—I’m no size queen. Cat run away from home? I can find it. Or one that looks similar to it and can learn to answer to the same name. Need help figuring out your taxes? I’ve got a great numbers guy who’ll getcha that sweet government refund moolah, no problemo. Or maybe—” Deadpool’s voice dipped into nearly a growl and his scent seemed to grow even stronger. “Boss getting a little handsy? Can’t make your rent, so the landlord’s asking for certain <em>favors</em>? Seeing somebody who gets too rough with you sometimes, but they’re always <em>really sorry</em> afterwards so it’s probably fine, right?”</p><p>“Nobody is abusing me!” Peter exclaimed, shaking his head a little as if he could simply dislodge the alpha pheromones that were working to soothe him.</p><p>“No?” The threat in Deadpool’s voice (and scent) fell away in a heartbeat. “Okay, so maybe nobody’s hurting you, but is anybody <em>helping</em> you, Petey? And I don’t just mean like through your heats, I’m talkin’ everyday boring-ass life. Being alone for too long is a slow, ugly ride straight to Feral Station. Take it from me, baby boy, no amount of pride is worth going there. That place is worse than New Jersey, and I don’t say that lightly.”</p><p>Peter’s mouth opened automatically, a denial on the tip of his tongue, but he was derailed when Deadpool’s hand came up to swipe a gloved thumb under his bottom lip. His lip, traitor that it was, turned hot and tingly at the attention.</p><p>“Sauce,” the alpha said blithely. (He was lying. Peter would put money on it.) But then, instead of pulling back, Deadpool shifted to cup Peter’s cheek. His hand was huge, warm, and careful, cradling Peter’s face like it was something delicate and precious.</p><p>Peter’s breath caught in his throat. He <em>knew</em> that touch. Deadpool was holding his face exactly like Aunt May used to, every morning, when she would scent mark him gently before sending him off to school.</p><p>And Peter, well, he couldn’t be sure if it was that unexpected memory or the strength of Deadpool’s pheromones or just his own touch-starved omega instincts, but something broke him. An involuntary shudder wracked his body and a low, mortifyingly needy whine managed to escape his tight throat. The alpha’s answering rumble was so deep that Peter could feel it reverberating in his chest.</p><p>“Aw, sweet thing,” Deadpool murmured, leaning closer. “Can I hold you, Petey-pie? We can pretend I’m the one who needs a hug if it makes you feel better.”</p><p>Peter honestly couldn’t believe this was happening. This little breakdown was a long time in the making, he knew that, but he’d never pictured it happening in a public space next to Deadpool of all people. Right now, though, he couldn’t even bring himself to speak, much less care. Closing his eyes, Peter sagged forward and tried to muffle another choked whine against Deadpool’s chest.</p><p>“I know, honey, I know. Here we go.”</p><p>The alpha’s big arms gathered him up and pulled him right onto Deadpool’s lap, tucking Peter’s head into the crook of his neck where the pheromones were strongest. His hands started rubbing a slow rhythm up and down Peter’s back, stopping occasionally for a gentle squeeze to the back of his neck, and <em>holy fuck that was nice</em>. Peter could actually feel himself melting, going utterly boneless in Deadpool’s arms, and the tension headache he’d been enduring for the past two weeks was already fading away like it’d never been.</p><p>“Ohhh,” the alpha sighed into his hair. “That’s the stuff. You’re smelling sweeter already, baby boy. This what you needed? Just a little lovin’ and a shoulder to...” Deadpool trailed off for a moment before making a breathy, punched-out sort of sound. “Whoa. Wow. That’s a first. Petey-pie, you’re <em>purring</em>.”</p><p>Huh, Peter realized blearily. So he was.</p><p>He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d had anything to purr about. And okay, so maybe it was a little pathetic, but this was <em>Deadpool</em>. If working with him as Spider-Man was any indication, the merc did more humiliating shit than this on a daily basis. So what if Peter was purring while getting cuddled by a strange alpha in public? Just last week, Deadpool had dropped his full punch card for a free pizza off a building and jumped after it. Spider-Man had had to chase after and web the card down just to stop the alpha from bleeding all over the sidewalk while he limped after it. Peter shuddered at the memory and Deadpool held him even tighter, which should not have been as comforting as it was.</p><p>For a while, Peter just floated. He let himself be petted and rocked and cooed at. In return, he purred and mindlessly nuzzled into the alpha’s neck, leaving a faint scent mark. (It was generally considered rude to do this without permission, but Deadpool seemed to heartily approve if his happy alpha rumble was any indication.)</p><p>Then, from nowhere, an abrasive tune that Peter recognized vaguely as “Pop Goes the Weasel” started to play. Deadpool cursed, fumbling one-handedly with his pouches to pull out a beat-up flip phone. Peter tried and failed to contain a soft noise of distress when one of those big, warm hands left his back.</p><p>“Don’t pout, Petey,” Deadpool scolded affectionately, dropping a kiss in his hair. “This’ll only take a sec, then I’m all yours again.”</p><p>Peter wanted to protest that he wasn’t pouting, but he settled for showing his displeasure with a quick nip to the alpha’s neck.</p><p>Deadpool’s entire body jerked in response, hips bucking up instinctively with a heartfelt groan that appeared to be dragged from the very depths of his body. “Jesus poledancing Christ, babydoll, are you trying to make me cream myself before the cannoli even get here? <em>No, I was not talking to you, Weasel!</em>”</p><p>A nasally voice answered back through the phone, and Peter could’ve used his Spidey hearing to eavesdrop, but he was having a hard time focusing on anything outside of Deadpool’s firm grip on the back of his neck. It was stimulating both scent glands at once, and that combined with the alpha arousal Peter could still taste on his tongue had coaxed him back into warm, fuzzy pliancy. The physical evidence of that arousal – unobtrusive yet undeniably there – was trapped beneath his ass, and Peter was unsurprised to find that he was half-hard in his own pants.</p><p>God, he needed to get laid. If a pain in the ass like Deadpool could get him going like this, Peter’s dry spell had officially gone on too long.</p><p>“Don’t flatter yourself,” Deadpool scoffed into the phone. “That was <em>one time</em> and it was <em>in a </em><em>dream.</em> You might as well have been Donald Trump or someone equally unfuckable for all the say I had in it!”</p><p>Peter noted absently that a little Spider-Man charm dangled from the corner of Deadpool’s phone. He didn’t even know they made cellphone charms anymore. Then again, he also didn’t know they made flip phones anymore.</p><p>“Fuck off with your semantics! Do you have what I asked for or not? And make it snappy; Daddypool’s a little occupied at the moment.”</p><p>The alpha’s hand finally released Peter’s neck, only to slide upwards and bury itself in his already messy hair. Peter’s breath hitched and shuddered as Deadpool started to gently scratch and massage his scalp.</p><p>“Well, it’s a start. I’ll look into it. Keep digging; let me know if you find anything else. Buh-bye now!” He made a loud smooching noise into the phone and snapped it shut. Barely a second later, his newly freed hand was back on Peter’s spine, squishing him deeper into the alpha’s chest with a pleasant amount of force. Peter felt his own chest start to rumble as his purring picked back up again. Deadpool groaned in blatant appreciation. “I can’t decide if you’re the sweetest thing I’ve ever met, or the brattiest. Look at you, purring away like a dream, as if you didn’t just bite the shit out of my neck. Such a vicious little vampire.”</p><p>“Don’t be a baby,” Peter mumbled, nuzzling back into the neck in question and inadvertently scent-marking it a bit more. “I barely nipped you.”</p><p>“Definitely a brat,” Deadpool said fondly, giving his hair a little tug.</p><p>Peter wasn’t sure what noise he made as he tipped his head back, begging for more, but he was pretty sure it was obscene. The alpha made a funny, choked sound, but obligingly pulled Peter’s hair again. Fuck, that was so good. And also very bad, because if Peter started getting slick, his pitiful scent blockers weren’t gonna do shit to hide it.</p><p>“Perfect, sweet little thing,” Deadpool crooned, blissfully unaware of Peter’s predicament, “but a brat nonetheless. God help me, baby boy, you’re too much.”</p><p>A throat cleared behind them, and Peter cracked open an eye to see their waiter delivering the desserts with a distinctly uncomfortable smile before beating a hasty retreat. Peter squirmed with embarrassment and made a clumsy attempt to climb off Deadpool’s lap, but the alpha’s arms locked around him. It would have taken no effort at all on Peter’s part to break free with his Spidey strength. The real battle was mental fortitude, and he just didn’t have enough of it to make himself leave that warm embrace quite yet.</p><p>Deadpool beamed down at him, the scarred lower half of his face on full display. He was holding a cannoli up to Peter’s lips expectantly. “Say <em>ah</em>, sweetums!”</p><p>Well, what was one more indignity? Peter opened his mouth.</p><p>*</p><p>“Up and at’em, Petey-pie! Time for sleepy little omegas to be heading to bed.”</p><p>Peter raised his head and blinked around blearily. When the fuck had he fallen asleep? Also, where the fuck even was he?</p><p>“You conked out during dessert,” Deadpool said, and Peter realized with a start that he was still on the alpha’s lap but they were in a cab now. A cab parked outside a familiar apartment building.</p><p>“How d’you know where I live?” He demanded, or tried to demand if he wasn’t still slurring with sleep.</p><p>“I took a peep at your wallet while you were snoozing, Peter Parker, age 26.” In typical Deadpool fashion, the merc seemed to either not understand or not care about how that was a breach of privacy. “Didn’t want to wake you. You definitely need to catch up on some Z’s. Also, you should really consider becoming an organ donor. If I wasn’t absolutely riddled with cancer, I’d be making <em>so much bank</em> on the black market. It’s the heroic thing to do. Anyway, as thrilled as I am to have been your body pillow for this evening, Daddypool’s got some work to do.”</p><p>Deadpool opened the car door and nudged Peter off his lap and out onto the sidewalk.</p><p>“Don’t forget your leftovers!” He added, shoving several takeout boxes into Peter’s hands. “And you can call me whenever, okay, baby boy? Day or night, rain or shine, I’ll be your pillow anytime. Sweet dreams, Petey!”</p><p>Deadpool blew him a kiss and slammed the taxi’s door. Peter heard him yell something that sounded like <em>“step on it, Dopinder!”</em> and then the cab was screeching away into the night.</p><p>“What the fuck just happened?” Peter asked.</p><p>The homeless beta sitting nearby didn’t have an answer, but Peter gave them his leftovers anyway.</p><p>*</p><p>Peter didn’t end up patrolling that night. Instead, he collapsed onto his bed and promptly passed out for eight dreamless hours, which had to be some kind of record for him.</p><p>He woke to the sound of multiple texts coming in rapid-fire directly in his ear. Still more than half asleep, he wiped the drool off his cheek and groggily checked his phone. 7 new texts from an unknown number.</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>[Friday 6:22 AM] Unknown</strong>
  </p>
  <p>good morning petey!</p>
  <p>did u sleep ok? hope ur lil nap didn’t throw off ur schedule 2 much</p>
  <p>but if it did i will take full responsibility and rock u 2 sleep anytime</p>
  <p>o check outside ur door btw!!!</p>
  <p>left u a lil sum’n sum’n</p>
  <p>and if u need anything else, sugardaddypool is just a text away</p>
  <p>don’t be a stranger, bb boy &lt;3</p>
</blockquote><p>Groaning, Peter dragged himself to his front door and found a package containing at least ten different kinds of scent blocker. He even recognized a few high-end brands that he’d only ever tried through free samples.</p><p>Huh. That was... really thoughtful, actually. Peter felt strangely warm as he stared down at the gifts. Deadpool had – shock of shocks, wonder of wonders – really come through for him last night. Peter felt better today than he had in months, and it was all thanks to a good meal, a good cuddle, and a good rest.</p><p><em>Good alpha</em>, his hindbrain insisted, but Peter wasn’t nearly awake enough to unpack that mess.</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>[Friday 6:29 AM] Peter</strong>
  </p>
  <p>Hey Deadpool. Thanks for everything last night. I’d say sorry for falling asleep on you, but this is the most rested I’ve felt in ages so I don’t even regret it. I don’t know how to thank you for all these scent blockers, but you’re totally saving my neck (literally). Spider-Man would be proud :)</p>
</blockquote><p>Peter sent the text, but continued to stare at the screen while he absently finger-combed his hair. A faint hint of Deadpool’s scent – stale, yet still comforting somehow – reached Peter’s nose, and he made an impulse decision.</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>[Friday 6:30 AM] Peter</strong>
  </p>
  <p>I’ll let you talk me into Mexican next time.</p>
</blockquote><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>"Fun" fact: Peter can't be an organ donor because of the radioactive nature of his mutation. Any transplant recipients to receive his organs would almost certainly die of radiation poisoning.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Peter’s had a hard month. Deadpool helps.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The second time that Peter Parker allowed Deadpool into his life was less than a month later, but what a bitch of a month it had been.</p><p>Spider-Man had taken a bit of a beating when Rhino turned back up a week ago. He and Deadpool managed to capture him without too much trouble, but not before the villain had gotten in a few lucky shots while Peter was distracted getting bystanders to safety. Most of his injuries had faded by now; all that remained were a couple of bruised ribs and some yellow-green discoloration right at his hairline where Rhino had headbutted him.</p><p>Regular life wasn’t going much smoother. There were rumors of upcoming layoffs at Peter’s work, and he could <em>not</em> afford to be stuck job-hunting with all his bills and hero work to keep up with. Unfortunately, with the number of “personal emergencies” that had him leaving work at odd hours, Peter wasn’t the most popular guy at the water cooler. So, in a last-ditch effort to appeal to his manager before performance reviews, he’d taken on some extra responsibilities around the lab. What that boiled down to was extra work, longer hours, and no overtime pay.</p><p>It fucking sucked. But hopefully it would be enough to keep him employed.</p><p>Then, because Peter didn’t already have enough on his plate: something was going on with Deadpool. The merc had been turning up to fewer and fewer patrols lately. After several long months of barely being able to help an old lady carry her groceries without Deadpool showing up, Peter hadn’t even realized how much he’d come to rely on him (and the end-of-patrol snacks he provided) until his sudden absence threw everything into sharp relief.</p><p>Alone, patrol seemed to take more time and effort than usual, despite the fact that Deadpool had often felt more like a hindrance than a help. (One time, he’d spent an entire fight throwing banana peels around, trying to get the bad guys to slip on them. It was, obviously, useless, and Peter had been forced to do all the actual legwork, but he was laughing so hard by the time he’d webbed everyone up that it hadn’t even mattered.)</p><p>When Spider-Man finally caved and asked what Deadpool was up to, the answer he got was reassuring but evasive: “Nothing to worry about, Webs! Just a little pet project I’m working on. But I’m being a good Deadpool, pinky promise! So does this mean you <em>miss</em> me?”</p><p>He didn’t <em>miss</em> Deadpool. Peter missed the free food, and the banter, and having someone to watch his back— but he didn’t miss <em>Deadpool</em>. He didn’t even consider him a friend, really. It was just that, with his life being what it was, Peter didn’t have many real friends left. But Deadpool had always treated him like one, and sometimes that just felt... nice.</p><p>Still, it was hard to miss someone who texted you every fucking day. Possibly the strangest of all these recent developments was that Deadpool had taken to texting him – Peter Parker, that is, not Spider-Man – daily photos of sleepy or grumpy-looking baby animals with the caption “that you”. Peter mostly left these texts on read, but every now and then, he felt compelled to retaliate with his own “that you” pic of a dumpster or dilapidated building. Deadpool was (if Peter was interpreting the resulting string of emojis right) completely tickled by this.</p><p>So, when Peter – so far beyond tired and hungry that he just felt numb – finally collapsed onto his couch on Friday night and opened a “that you” text from Deadpool of a kitten asleep in its food bowl, he wouldn’t normally have texted back. But there’s a point where exhaustion impairs your judgment as much as alcohol, and Peter had apparently reached that point.</p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>[Friday 7:58 PM] Peter</strong>
  </p>
  <p>
    
  </p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>[Friday 7:58 PM] DP</strong>
  </p>
  <p>aww long week workin the old 9 to 5? does petey need a nap?</p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>[Friday 7:59 PM] Peter</strong>
  </p>
  <p>More like a medically induced coma. I’m pretty sure I could sleep for a year and still not pay off all my sleep debt</p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>[Friday 7:59 PM] DP</strong>
  </p>
  <p>have u eaten yet?</p>
  <p>and don’t say yes if u had ramen bc that doesn’t even count as food</p>
  <p>it heals like 1hp max</p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>[Friday 8:00 PM] Peter</strong>
  </p>
  <p>Nah I just got home</p>
  <p>Dare I ask why you want to know</p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>[Friday 8:00 PM] DP</strong>
  </p>
  <p>i’m taking u up on ur offer</p>
  <p>this is me talking u into mexican</p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p>A barrage of taco, burrito, and poop emojis appeared a few seconds later, taking up most of Peter’s phone screen. The hollow feeling he’d been dealing with all day – all week, if he was being honest – receded enough to allow his stomach to rumble pointedly. God, Peter really was running on fumes.</p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>[Friday 8:01 PM] Peter</strong>
  </p>
  <p>Fuck it. C’mon over</p>
  <p>You remember where I live?</p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>[Friday 8:02 PM] DP</strong>
  </p>
  <p>i remember everything about u ;) plus i have a cheatsheet</p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p>And then Deadpool texted him a picture of Peter’s license, and a prickly wave of paranoia skittered down his spine. He knew Deadpool had looked at it when Peter was asleep – not cool – but he hadn’t known he’d taken a picture of it too. Very not cool. He’d also added a flower crown to Peter’s license photo with one of those phone apps, which, just, why?</p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>[Friday 8:03 PM] Peter</strong>
  </p>
  <p>Dude. Delete that. If you were literally any other alpha, I’d call the cops</p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>[Friday 8:03 PM] DP</strong>
  </p>
  <p>is it the flower crown? wait shouldn’t u be callin the cops BCUZ im me???</p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>[Friday 8:04 PM] Peter</strong>
  </p>
  <p>Don’t be stupid. I’ve heard what you do to stalkers and rapists, so I know you’re not gonna use my info to hurt me. But you’ve dealt with enough abusers that you should be able to recognize and avoid predatory behavior by now.</p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p>The typing icon appeared and disappeared multiple times, and several minutes passed before Deadpool finally responded.</p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>[Friday 8:08 PM] DP</strong>
  </p>
  <p>sorry pete. didn’t think about it that way. i deleted the pic. should i not come over?</p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>[Friday 8:09 PM] Peter</strong>
  </p>
  <p>I was promised Mexican food. Get your ass over here before my stomach implodes</p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p>Deadpool texted back a string of running man emojis and an “OMW!!!”</p><p>Ignoring his weary body’s protests, Peter shoved himself off the couch and started the usual “company’s coming, hide everything suspicious” routine.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>When Deadpool knocked on his door half an hour later, the warm, welcoming aromas of Mexican food and friendly alpha almost brought Peter to tears. He was across the room and opening his door embarrassingly fast, too hungry to care if he looked eager.</p><p>“Petey-pie!” Deadpool’s mask was crinkled in a way that indicated he was grinning, but that fell barely a second later as he stepped into the apartment. “Jesus Christ, baby boy, how long <em>was</em> your week? This is worse than last time!”</p><p>Confused, Peter looked around for something out of place. Sure, his apartment was small and plain, even a little bleak, but at least it was clean! That was more than Deadpool could say for his place; the one time Peter had the misfortune of being patched up there, it was a warzone and a hazardous waste dump rolled into one.</p><p>Turning back to the merc, Peter’s question died on his lips when he saw that Deadpool had pushed his mask up over his nose and was inhaling deeply. (If Aunt May were here, she’d have flicked him right on his disrespectful nose and told him to mind his manners. God, Peter missed her.) That’s when he realized what the problem was: he’d forgotten to plug in a scent neutralizer. Usually, Peter just left his windows cracked to air things out, but the weather was cool enough now that he couldn’t do that anymore.</p><p>If Deadpool thought his scent was miserable in a public supermarket, the more concentrated smell in his apartment might as well have been a punch to the face of Eau de Depressed Omega.</p><p>“Shit, sorry,” Peter muttered, unable to stop his face from heating up, which only made him feel even more uncomfortable. “Hang on, I think I’ve got a neutralizer around here somewhere. You can crack a window if you need to.”</p><p>As he started digging through one of his kitchen drawers, Peter was vaguely aware of Deadpool depositing the takeout bags on his coffee table. Then the merc was suddenly in his space, spider-sense warning him too late as huge arms wrapped around Peter’s body, crushing him in a tight hug.</p><p>Just as abruptly, he was free again. Peter, swaying a little from the sudden assault and release, felt a bit like a wine glass on a table where the tablecloth had just been yanked out from under it. Had it always been this cold in his apartment? He wasn’t cold before Deadpool hugged him, and certainly not while it was happening, but now he could feel his skin prickling with goosebumps.</p><p>“Bad Deadpool, ask first!” The alpha was telling himself sternly. “Petey, pretty-please may I hold you? You smell <em>so sad</em>, baby boy, it’s got my instincts all twitchy. Can’t decide if I should feed you first, or hug you, or hug you while feeding you, or if I should just burrito you in blankies and sing you to sleep—” He cut off when Peter stepped forward into his open and eager arms.</p><p>“Definitely don’t sing me to sleep,” Peter mumbled into the big, warm chest that he knew from personal experience made an excellent pillow. “I’ve heard your voice and I’m not impressed.”</p><p>“Yeowch! Kitty’s got claws even when he wants cuddles.” Deadpool’s voice was as warm as his chest, and Peter felt his muscles going loose and liquidy as he breathed in that safe alpha scent. The merc shifted to support his weight effortlessly. “There ya go, cutie, I’ve gotcha. Let’s get some food in you, hm?”</p><p>And then Peter was being scooped right off the floor and carried over to the couch. He felt like he should maybe protest this manhandling on principle, but he was too relaxed to do more than make a vaguely disgruntled noise.</p><p>“I know,” Deadpool soothed. “Petey-pie’s hangry. Don’t worry, Daddypool’s gonna fix it.” He settled them onto the couch with Peter tucked between his legs, back to chest. There was a (somewhat threadbare) throw blanket draped over the back of the couch, which Deadpool immediately employed, wrapping it around his own shoulders and encircling Peter with both his and the blanket’s warmth.</p><p>“What’d you bring?” Peter asked, and his stomach echoed the question with an audible grumble.</p><p>“Everything, and lots of it!” Deadpool yanked the coffee table closer and started unpacking the takeout bags, somehow managing not to jostle Peter too badly in the process. “What’re you hungry for?”</p><p>“Everything, and lots of it,” Peter parroted back. “Got any enchiladas?”</p><p>“You bet, sweetums.” Deadpool plopped a plastic utensil and the requested container into his lap, and Peter dug in with the ferocity of a half-starved circus animal.</p><p>The merc clicked on Peter’s old-ass TV and was floored to discover that he didn’t have Netflix, Hulu, or anything really.</p><p>“It’s like you live in the Dark Ages,” he whined, flipping through Peter’s meager channels. “Damn, remind me to bring you a Roku box next time. I’ll log you into all my accounts. They may not work all the time ‘cause remembering which bills I’ve paid and which I haven’t is a fun game that I usually lose, but at least you’ll have more to work with than—ooh!” Deadpool settled on a channel that was playing Golden Girls reruns.</p><p>“Mmngh,” Peter said around a mouthful of refried beans, which could have been correctly interpreted as both “that’s really generous, thank you” and “what makes you think there’ll be a next time?”</p><p>The alpha ruffled his hair fondly and grabbed himself a quesadilla. They settled into a comfortable arrangement where Deadpool would chatter at the TV (with his mouth full, of course, another Aunt May no-no) and occasionally pass Peter a new container when he polished one off.</p><p>It took two episodes of Golden Girls and over half the takeout boxes, but Peter finally collapsed back into Deadpool’s chest and felt satisfied.</p><p>“You’re a beast, Petey,” Deadpool said with admiration, propping his feet up on the coffee table (Aunt May had to be rolling in her grave at this point) with his knees bent so Peter was cocooned by the alpha’s body on all sides. “Seriously, have you considered competitive eating? That hot dog eating contest they do in Brooklyn every summer has a $10,000 prize! I tried to enter last year – purely for love of the sport, obvs, that’s chump change for me anyway – but those Nathan’s Famous guys are merc-phobic and said I’d be arrested if I showed up.”</p><p>“Since when’re you afraid of law enforcement?” Peter asked through a yawn.</p><p>“Afraid? You’re adorable.” Deadpool booped Peter’s nose. “Nah, cops just make me nauseous. Hard to keep down a belly full of dogs when you’re surrounded by the overwhelming stench of systemic racism, classism, and brutality.”</p><p>During Peter’s early days as Spider-Man, he’d known a few cops that he was friendly enough with. Since then, he’d caught more than his fair share of corrupt officers on the local force. Peter had seen just about everything: officers planting evidence, taking bribes, abusing their own families, using excessive force against anyone from murder suspects to peaceful protesters, raping people in their custody, and so much more.</p><p>These cases were almost always swept under the rug to some extent. He could count on both hands the number of times an officer he’d apprehended had actually been convicted for their crimes, and of those, only about half of them had actually lost their badges. Turns out, a lot of cops are more concerned with protecting each other than the citizens of their city.</p><p>Spider-Man and the NYPD weren’t on very good terms anymore.</p><p>So, Peter didn’t feel particularly bad when he agreed, “ACAB.”</p><p>“Fuck yeah, ACAB!” Deadpool cheered, squeezing Peter to his chest so hard that he could actually feel his parasympathetic system calming and his brain being flooded with happy hormones. “I knew my baby boy was no bootlicker!”</p><p>Peter yawned again and closed his eyes, turning into the body behind him and tucking his head under Deadpool’s chin.</p><p>“You falling asleep on me already, Petey-pie?”</p><p>“Mm-hm,” Peter hummed. “You said you’d be my pillow, didn’t you?”</p><p>“Well you’ve got me there. Still, I can’t help but wonder if I’m doing something wrong. All that crime fighting, and for what? A bod that puts omegas straight to sleep.”</p><p>“Don’t make me bite you again, Pool.”</p><p>“Don’t threaten me with a good time!”</p><p>Deadpool’s gloved fingers started combing through Peter’s hair in a repetitive, soothing motion. When Peter tipped his head back into the touch, silently asking for more, the alpha faltered for a second before resuming his actions.</p><p>“How’d you bump your noggin, Pete?” Deadpool asked, a little too casually. “That must’ve been a pretty nasty bruise.”</p><p>“Not telling,” he murmured, tilting his head further so that his neck was bared in what he hoped was a distracting manner. “It’s embarrassing.”</p><p>“Clumsy cutie,” Deadpool crooned, sounding sufficiently distracted. The hand not carding through Peter’s hair slid up his back to support his neck, massaging his muscles and scritching his scalp until he was a noodley mess.</p><p>When Peter couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore, Deadpool guided his head down into the crook of his neck. Distantly, he heard him whisper something that sounded like <em>“aww he’s purring again”</em>. One deep lungful of alpha pheromones later, Peter was happily floating away.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>Peter woke with a start some time later. The warm body beneath him was trying to carefully extract itself, and he was seized by a sudden panic.</p><p>Deadpool was leaving. Deadpool leaving meant an unwelcome return to the hell this past month had been: patrolling alone, running on little sleep and less food, physically and mentally burning himself out. If Peter could just sleep one night through where he felt full and safe, he knew he’d be able to get up and do this for another month.</p><p>Deadpool couldn’t leave yet. Peter needed this too badly.</p><p>“Wait!” He latched onto the alpha’s wrist, probably with too much strength, and tugged him to a stop. “Not yet, please don’t go yet, I need—”</p><p>“Whoa, Nelly!” Deadpool sounded alarmed, but made no attempt to pull free of Peter’s grip. “Sorry, Pete, didn’t mean to wake you—”</p><p>“Please stay, just a little longer, I just need to sleep, please—” Oh, god, was Peter begging? It felt like he was begging.</p><p>“Deep breaths, baby boy, I’m not going anywhere,” Deadpool said, sitting back down on the couch. Peter tried to climb back into his lap (mainly to prevent the alpha from leaving), but Deadpool stopped him. “Ouch, hang on, Daddy’s lap is off-limits until I take a piss! I promise I’m not leaving, so can I please run to the little Canadians’ room? I’ll cuddle you up so good after, pinky swear, but I’m not into watersports so—”</p><p>“Gross,” Peter croaked, releasing the alpha. “Wash your hands after. I’ll know if you don’t.”</p><p>“You drive a hard bargain, but I accept!” Deadpool shot up and sprinted to the bathroom, leaving Peter wrong-footed and cold on the couch.</p><p>Was it, he wondered, even <em>possible</em> to sound more pathetic than he had just now? All signs pointed to no. With his irrational, sleep-fueled distress fading more every minute he was awake, Peter started to contemplate sneaking out a window rather than facing Deadpool after this latest little freak-out. Unfortunately, he didn’t have enough time to execute his escape, because the alpha was back in record time (with slightly damp gloves smelling of Peter’s hand soap).</p><p>“Okay,” Deadpool said conversationally as he scooped Peter back into his lap and resettled on the couch. “So, what the ever-loving fuck was <em>that</em> all about, buttercup?”</p><p>“Nightmare,” Peter lied, pressing his nose into the alpha’s neck to avoid eye contact (among other reasons).</p><p>“Nightmare,” the merc repeated. His skepticism was loud, and Peter’s subsequent silence was louder. After a long, awkward game of silence-breaking chicken, Deadpool sighed and caved. “You know what this calls for? Puppy pile.”</p><p>And then Peter found himself unceremoniously tipped onto his back so that he was lying down on the couch. Deadpool clambered on and draped his body completely over Peter’s, like some sort of muscular blanket. He was obviously trying to keep a good bit of his weight to himself, but Peter had had buildings collapse on him and only come out a tiny bit squished, so he circled his arms around Deadpool’s waist and dragged the big alpha all the way down.</p><p>“You sure I’m not crushing you, Petey-pie?” Deadpool asked doubtfully. “This is giving me trauma flashbacks to Giles Corey’s death in The Crucible.”</p><p>“Don’t talk about other boys when you’re cuddling me,” Peter joked, already feeling calmer as he basked beneath the warm press of the alpha’s bulk. The vibration of Deadpool’s full-body laugh did interesting, tingly things to the pit of Peter’s stomach.</p><p>“Maybe I like you a little jealous,” Deadpool purred back, and that didn’t help Peter’s tingly-stomach situation at all.</p><p>So, he did the only logical thing and bit the alpha again.</p><p>“Mamma mia! Here we go again,” Deadpool groaned as his hips bucked involuntarily. His suit really did nothing to hide the erection that had sprung up against Peter’s thigh. “You’ve gotta cool it with the biting, Petey; I just had this suit cleaned.”</p><p>“No, you didn’t,” Peter scoffed. He absently brushed his lips over the bite mark, which was already fading, and breathed in the thick, cloying scent of interested alpha. His own cock twitched, trying to mirror Deadpool’s arousal. “Smells like you haven’t washed it in at least a week.”</p><p>“I got caught in the rain yesterday. That totally counts.”</p><p>“You’re so gross,” Peter lamented. “If you’re gonna drape yourself all over me and cover me head-to-toe in your stink, you’d better shower and put on a fresh suit next time.”</p><p>Deadpool’s head popped up, unreadable white eyes staring down at Peter as he repeated, “Next time?”</p><p>“If I ever let you into my home again after this,” he groused, looking away (though he made no move to unwrap his arms from around the alpha’s body).</p><p>“Roger that, sweetums,” Deadpool said, happily nuzzling into Peter’s hair with his nose. “Speaking of stinky, you’re smelling a bit better.”</p><p>“You only think that ‘cause now I smell like you.”</p><p>“You already know me so well, baby boy.”</p><p>“I know you’re a caveman. Don’t think I don’t notice you practically popping a knot every time I flash my fangs.”</p><p>“If you don’t like it, then why do you keep biting me?” Deadpool teased, digging his fingers into Peter’s sides in a playful little tickle.</p><p>Unfortunately, he managed to hit the bruised ribs dead-on.</p><p>Peter flinched and hissed in pain, barely restraining himself from shoving Deadpool off of him. It was unnecessary anyway; the alpha was off him in a heartbeat and tugging Peter’s shirt up, gentle hands ghosting over the ugly purple-and-yellow skin like an apology.</p><p>“This part of that embarrassing story of yours, Petey?” Deadpool may have sounded calm, but his tense muscles betrayed that for the lie it was.</p><p>“Yep.” Peter pulled his shirt back down and groaned when the merc’s silence made it clear that he was expecting something more than that.</p><p>Fine. Deadpool needed an explanation? Peter had been Spider-Man for ten years now. He had an excuse for every day of the week and then some.</p><p>“I got mugged, okay? And it’s embarrassing because it was just some kid. High school age, tops. He tried to put on a voice and everything. If he hadn’t knocked the wind outta me, I’d probably have laughed and told him to go home.” Peter chuckled at the fake memory, aiming for wry and resigned. “Good news was I didn’t even have any cash on me. Bad news was he threw my wallet into a dumpster and took off. I got to spend the next ten minutes hip-deep in garbage soup looking for it. It was extremely glamorous and not at all humiliating.” He shot Deadpool a pointed, sour look. Frustratingly, the merc wasn’t quite ready to back down yet.</p><p>“That’s a lot of bruising for some high school punk to achieve, sweetums.”</p><p>Peter made a noise of wordless exasperation. “I literally speed-walked directly into his fist. If I’d been paying any attention at all, it never would’ve happened. I’m being more careful now.”</p><p>Deadpool weakened, voice softening into almost a croon. “That what’s got you so paranoid, Petey-pie? The trouble sleeping, the bad dreams?”</p><p>“Some of ‘em,” Peter admitted with a helpless little shrug. “I know it was stupid and avoidable, and I wasn’t even in any real danger, but... it’s hard to feel safe again after something like that happens.”</p><p>Deadpool broke. Peter breathed a silent sigh of relief as the alpha finally gave into his urge to comfort an upset omega. He responded eagerly, encouraging Deadpool to scent mark him and coaxing him back down to his previous position of lying on top of Peter. The alpha refused to use his full weight this time, but he did nuzzle into Peter’s hair and croon comforting nonsense, so that was a good sign.</p><p>For a few minutes, he thought he was in the clear. But Deadpool, like a kid with a scab, just couldn’t resist picking at Peter’s story.</p><p>“And this?” The alpha asked, stroking the bruise on Peter’s forehead with undue tenderness. “How did this happen?”</p><p>“Please don’t,” Peter groaned, “let a scrap of my dignity remain intact; I’m begging you.”</p><p>“As much as I <em>love</em> you begging, you can’t just set me up with such a juicy disclaimer and expect me not to pester it out of you.”</p><p>“You’re really not going to let this go.”</p><p>“Pleased to meet you, I’m Deadpool!”</p><p>Peter let out a resigned sigh. “Do you remember Nickelodeon’s Slime Time?”</p><p>“How dare you try to distract me with delightfully random questions! That’s <em>my</em> prerogative!”</p><p>“When I was trying to get back out of the dumpster,” Peter said begrudgingly, “I was basically covered head-to-toe in garbage slime. And, since apparently my night wasn’t already bad enough, my foot slipped. I banged my head on the rim of the dumpster, and—<em>would you stop laughing</em>?”</p><p>Deadpool’s entire body was convulsing with silent laughter. Peter’s peevish admonition only seemed to set him off further, and the alpha unleashed a veritable howl of mirth right into his sensitive ears. “Oh god—I can’t breathe—you are <em>so lucky</em> I literally just peed—fuck, spoke too soon, think I just felt a dribble—”</p><p>“Ew, get off—” Peter tried to shove Deadpool away, but without the use of his super strength, the merc simply clamped down with his thighs and refused to be moved.</p><p>“False alarm! No golden showers in this fic, Petey,” he said, still giggling intermittently. “And since you’ve been such a good sport, I’ll do you one better! How does an embarrassing story starring yours truly sound? Did I ever tell you about the time I spent three days tracking down some scumbag in a landfill? I swear, I lost my sense of smell for a whole week after that, healing factor be damned!”</p><p>Peter was pretty sure Deadpool had, in fact, told that story to <em>Spider-Man</em> before—not Peter Parker. The longer he let the merc stay in both sides of his life, the harder it was going to be to keep his stories straight. God, what a mess.</p><p>“When would you have told me that? This is literally our second time hanging out,” he deflected.</p><p>Deadpool shrugged. “It’s hard to keep track of what I’ve told to who, y’know? That’s why I don’t take undercover work anymore. Got a brain like a leaky faucet.”</p><p>Well. That was certainly convenient for Peter’s situation, anyway.</p><p>“So, story time! The landfill was in New Jersey – which, I know, complete oxymoron – and speaking of morons, this fuckin’ skeezeball decided to—”</p><p>As Deadpool talked, he relaxed and settled more firmly onto Peter, apparently distracted enough by his own story to forget his earlier concerns of crushing the omega. Peter found the sensation to be exceptionally pleasant, like a weighted blanket with a built-in heater and calming alpha pheromones. Deadpool’s voice was easy to listen to, and its constant rumble made for the perfect white noise.</p><p>Peter slipped peacefully back under.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>Peter woke in his bed, thoroughly cocooned in blankets, to discover that it was well past noon. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d managed to sleep this late.</p><p>His phone had been plugged in to charge on his nightstand, and there were a whole slew of texts waiting for him.</p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>[Saturday 8:02 AM] DP</strong>
  </p>
  <p>sorry bb had 2 run!</p>
  <p>wanted 2 make u pancakes but duty calls :c</p>
  <p>next time 4 sure tho ;))</p>
  <p>leftovers in fridge xoxo</p>
  <p>btw look how cute u r when u sleep</p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p>A total of six pictures of Peter’s sleeping face followed.</p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>[Saturday 12:20 PM] Peter</strong>
  </p>
  <p>Dude, we talked about this. Don’t be a creep. Delete those photos</p>
  <p>Ugh now I want pancakes</p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p>Within a minute, Peter’s phone was buzzing with another flurry of texts. The first was a pinned location to one Gloria’s Diner, which was only a twenty-ish minute walk from Peter’s apartment.</p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>[Saturday 12:21 PM] DP</strong>
  </p>
  <p>GO HERE ASK 4 DEADPOOL SPECIAL</p>
  <p>U WONT REGRET IT</p>
  <p>X MY &lt;3</p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>[Saturday 12:22 PM] Peter</strong>
  </p>
  <p>???</p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p>But Deadpool didn’t text back.</p><p>After a quick shower (from which Peter emerged still smelling faintly of alpha, thanks to Deadpool’s overenthusiastic scent-marking from the night before), Peter’s stomach decided to assert itself loudly and persuasively. Though he didn’t have much wiggle room in his budget, he really did want pancakes, and he figured it couldn’t hurt to at least ask how much this “Deadpool Special” cost. With any non-Parker luck, it’d be under – Peter checked his “special occasions” fund and sighed – nine dollars and forty cents.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>“What can I getcha, hun?”</p><p>The diner, thankfully, was an over the counter kind of place. Peter really didn’t want to waste some poor waiter’s time if it turned out the prices broke his bank.</p><p>“Um, a friend told me to ask about the Deadpool Special?” Peter felt lame even saying it aloud. “Assuming he wasn’t just pulling my leg, can you tell me what that is and how much it costs?”</p><p>“Oh, it’s as real as Deadpool is a real pain in my ass,” the lady at the counter (nametag: “Jo”) said. “And it’d take less time to tell you what’s <em>not</em> included. Say cheese.”</p><p>“Wha—”</p><p>The flash of a Polaroid camera temporarily blinded him. He caught a glimpse of his dorky, deer-in-headlights face as the photo printed before Jo stashed it somewhere behind the counter.</p><p>“He likes to see who orders his special,” she explained with a shrug. “Calls it a security measure, but I think he just likes a tangible reminder that he’s helping people. Do you have any dietary restrictions?”</p><p>“No—”</p><p>“Then grab a seat, sugar, it’ll be out in a bit.”</p><p>“But, the price?”</p><p>She waved him away. “He’ll take care of it; he always does eventually.”</p><p>A little dazed, Peter took a seat at the counter and watched one of the chefs take his ticket, shake her head, and get to work. Fifteen minutes later, an entire army of breakfast food was placed before him. Pancakes, waffles, french toast, bacon, sausage, eggs, home fries, even a fruit cup. Peter’s hands were shaking as he pulled out his phone and sent Deadpool a picture of this spread.</p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>[Saturday 1:11 PM] Peter</strong>
  </p>
  <p>What the fuck</p>
  <p>You’re not even here. How are you still managing to buy me food</p>
  <p>You really didn’t have to do this, DP. But thank you.</p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p>Peter’s phone remained silent as he worked his way through the Deadpool Special, managing to eat to the point where his jeans felt tight, but there was still enough left to warrant a to-go box. He left the nine dollars and forty cents as a tip and headed home with a spring in his step.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>[Saturday 3:37 PM] DP</strong>
  </p>
  <p>anytime peteypie</p>
  <p>its totally one of my superpowerz</p>
  <p>i cum back 2 life n i always bring snax 4 the whole class</p>
  <p>omfg am i jesus????</p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>[Saturday 3:40 PM] Peter</strong>
  </p>
  <p>Well I don’t remember Jesus being Canadian but admittedly it’s been years since I last went to church</p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>[Saturday 3:41 PM] DP</strong>
  </p>
  <p>tru, canadian jesus would have maple syrup for blood not wine</p>
  <p>btw. dp special is always free so</p>
  <p>tell a friend</p>
  <p>specifically our mutual sticky friend</p>
  <p>i don’t think he eats enough either</p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>[Saturday 3:42 PM] Peter</strong>
  </p>
  <p>You lost me?</p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>[Saturday 3:42 PM] DP</strong>
  </p>
  <p>
    
  </p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p>Okay, so Deadpool had obviously looked into Peter Parker and found his freelance photography. Peter had a real job now – in a lab, using his degree in biochemistry – but he still occasionally supplemented his income with Spider-Man pictures.</p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>[Saturday 3:43 PM] Peter</strong>
  </p>
  <p>Didn’t you say you’re his sidekick now? Tell him yourself</p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>[Saturday 3:44 PM] DP</strong>
  </p>
  <p>he barely lets me feed him as is!!!</p>
  <p>u know how he is</p>
  <p>he loves 2 give but he’s 2 proud 2 receive</p>
  <p>charity i mean</p>
  <p>god i hope he bottoms sometimes</p>
  <p>it’d be a criminal waste of dat ass not 2</p>
  <p>i digress</p>
  <p>can u just tell him 2 spread the word</p>
  <p>he might never use it but</p>
  <p>he’s the kinda guy 2 give up his own meal 4 some1 else</p>
  <p>im hoping if he knows about the dp special</p>
  <p>maybe he wont feel the need 2 be so self-sacrificey</p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p>Peter read and reread Deadpool’s texts in a state of disbelief. It was, to put it mildly, <em>uncomfortable </em> to see his character analyzed so blithely. Aunt May had always scolded him for being so resistant to receiving help. If she were here, she’d probably have some choice words for Peter about the way he’d been living lately.</p><p>
  <em>“It’s like those oxygen masks on airplanes, Peter. Helping someone else with their mask before you’ve put on your own isn’t heroic, it’s stupid. When you secure your own mask first, that puts you in the position to help others. You have such a big heart, sweetie, but you have a big brain too. Don’t forget to use it.”</em>
</p><p>Unfortunately, Peter’s brain was a little hung up on one thing in particular: the “Deadpool Special” polaroids. If Spider-Man had happened to take him up on this offer, it’s not a stretch to think he might have done so in civvies. Peter had been pushing his mask up to his nose to eat around Deadpool for months now. If the merc had a good enough idea what the lower half of his face looked like, how hard would it be to pick Peter out of the stack of pictures?</p><p>It really was dumb luck that Deadpool had met Peter Parker in a situation where he wasn’t primed to see Spider-Man. Now any familiarity the merc felt towards Peter could be explained by their acquaintanceship, and all Spider-Man had to do was show up for the Deadpool Special in his full costume. Check and mate.</p><p>Suspicions aside— it was hard to overlook the fact that Deadpool was apparently willing to feed the entire underprivileged community of NYC for Spider-Man (even if the goal was, ultimately, to unmask him). Peter didn’t know what to make of that. But he could at least get his head out of his ass long enough to be grateful for it.</p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>[Saturday 3:49 PM] Peter</strong>
  </p>
  <p>Sounds like you know him better than I do tbh! We don’t actually talk much, he just lets me take pics sometimes. I think he’d prefer to hear about it from you. Just maybe leave out the stuff about his ass smfh</p>
  <p>And for the record, I bet he’s really happy to have a friend like you looking out for him. I know I am.</p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>[Saturday 3:50 PM] DP</strong>
  </p>
  <p>awwwwWWWWWWWWWWW u liiiiiiiike meeeeee</p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>[Saturday 3:50 PM] Peter</strong>
  </p>
  <p>Btw I WILL be tattling on you to Spidey if you don’t delete those pics of me. Don’t think I fuckin won’t</p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>[Saturday 3:51 PM] DP</strong>
  </p>
  <p>ohh nooooo do u think spider-daddy will spank me??? ;)</p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>[Saturday 3:51 PM] Peter</strong>
  </p>
  <p>No, I think he’ll be very disappointed in you</p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>[Saturday 3:51 PM] DP</strong>
  </p>
  <p>well that’s not sexy at all. way 2 kill the mood petey</p>
  <p>FINE i’m deleting them</p>
  <p>.....unless</p>
</blockquote><p>
  
</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>[Saturday 3:52 PM] Peter</strong>
  </p>
  <p>Unless?</p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>[Saturday 3:52 PM] DP</strong>
  </p>
  <p>pretty pls can i keep 1???</p>
  <p>i already set it as ur contact photo ;__;</p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>[Saturday 3:53 PM] Peter</strong>
  </p>
  <p>No. But I’ll make you a deal: if you delete it and promise not to take more pics without my consent, we can take a selfie together next time</p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>[Saturday 3:53 PM] DP</strong>
  </p>
  <p>DONE!!!! NO TAKEBACKSIES!!!!! &lt;333</p>
</blockquote><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>For those not in the know, ACAB = All Cops Are Bastards.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Spider-Man and Deadpool have a chat. Deadpool gets the selfie he was promised.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello readers! I hope everyone’s been doing their best to stay informed and show their support for the Black Lives Matter protests. If any Spideypool fans would like to read a truly fantastic fic that spotlights social justice and activism, please check out <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/14729937/chapters/34048467">In The Good Old Summertime by Crockzilla</a>! It’s one of my all-time favorites.</p><p>Regarding this fic— sorry for the delay! Real life happens so much all the time.<br/>The Bad News: short chapter after a longer than expected break. :(<br/>The Good News: next chapter is long, smutty, and has already been written! Just need to finish editing, and I’ll have it out within a week. :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“YOO-HOO! SPIDEY!”</p><p>Deadpool was jumping and hollering at him from a distant rooftop. It was only thanks to Peter’s super hearing and eyesight that he even noticed the merc through the city’s traffic sounds and air pollution. When he saw that he had Spider-Man’s attention, Deadpool started frantically waving and beckoning in what seemed to be a “come over here please” dance.</p><p>Peter sighed – he’d been in the process of heading home after another tiring solo patrol – and swung over to him. As he dropped to the roof in front of Deadpool, he noticed that the merc was wearing a white Marilyn Monroe-style dress over his usual suit. Taking into consideration Deadpool’s general lifestyle, the thing was shockingly pristine—not a single stain or bullet hole in sight.</p><p>“Nice dress,” Peter said, circling his finger in a give-me-a-twirl gesture. “What’s the occasion?”</p><p>“What, this old thing?” Deadpool preened, obliging him with a coquettish little twirl. “Deadpool just feel like looking a little special today, that all.”</p><p>Peter glanced behind Deadpool at the picnic blanket, mound of foil-wrapped hot dogs, and candle that had long since blown out (if he’d even managed to light it in the first place). The setup certainly seemed to imply that <em>something</em> was going on.</p><p>"Wait," Peter said slowly, wracking his brain for some sort of special occasion, "it's not your birthday is it?"</p><p>Deadpool cocked his head in apparent confusion. “No? I mean, I’m not sure? Most of my childhood is pretty fuzzy. Oh god, what if today <em>is</em> my birthday?”</p><p>“If you’re not sure, then pick a different day ‘cause I didn’t get you anything. So if it’s not your birthday, and it’s definitely not <em>my</em> birthday, what’s with the fancy setup? Are you waiting on a date or something?”</p><p>“Well I’m not waiting <em>anymore</em>, lover,” Deadpool purred. His mask did that unnerving thing where it somehow managed to wink.</p><p>Peter turned around and made like he was preparing to swing away.</p><p>“Wait geez okay, it doesn’t have to be a date! Can’t a guy do something nice for his spider-bud? Fellas, is it gay to be considerate?”</p><p>“What do you want, Deadpool?”</p><p>“Well now that’s a singularly sexy question to ask while you’re showing me your ass like that—”</p><p>“And I’m outta here.”</p><p>“Fuck! Is it so hard to believe I just missed you? C’mon Webs, take a load off, eat a dog, let’s catch up!” Deadpool dropped down onto the blanket and patted the spot beside him invitingly.</p><p>Peter groaned but, after barely a moment of deliberation, plopped himself down next to the merc. “You have until I’m done eating, so talk fast.” He grabbed one of the lukewarm-at-best dogs and rolled up his mask.</p><p>The Merc With A Mouth accepted this challenge, and good god, did that motormouth deserve the nickname: “Hey Webs sorry I haven’t been around much things have been mad busy—How’s tricks with you? Cool cool—Spider-fam doing alright? Say hi to the spider-kids for me—So funny story I ran into your photographer the other day – sharp kid, I see why you like him – and anyway I was hoping you could do me a teeny tiny little favor—”</p><p>“There it is,” Peter mumbled around a mouthful of sauerkraut.</p><p>“Nothing bad! Scoutpool’s honor! I’ve been trying to help more in the community beyond, y’know, we’ll call it <em>taking out the trash</em>. So I set up this thing at Gloria’s – best diner in Queens, maybe you’ve heard of it? – anyway I know the owner, did her a solid awhile back, so she lets me do this thing called the Deadpool Special—”</p><p>As Deadpool continued to explain, Peter reached for another hot dog and finally started to relax. He’d been so sure that Deadpool had an ulterior motive in suddenly wanting to catch up, when he’d been so evasive about why he kept flaking on their usual patrols in the first place. Peter couldn’t help feeling a strange combination of relieved (that he already knew what Deadpool was about to ask of him) and disappointed (that he still didn’t know what Deadpool was getting up to by himself).</p><p>“—so yeah, basically I was hoping you could help me get the word out there? Oh, but Jo did say there had to be like a daily limit based on supplies or something—not a hundred percent sure, I’d kinda tuned her out by then, like how you’re tuning me out right now—but I guess try to use some discretion? Like don’t go confusing hipsters for homeless people; I know it’s hard to tell with the way hipsters dress, but those dickweeds will pay ten bucks to drink celery soda or some shit—”</p><p>Peter noticed, as Deadpool’s diatribe against hipsters and gentrification grew more vehement, that the merc’s fist was squeezing his hot dog tighter and tighter until... a glob of ketchup surrendered to gravity and beelined it straight for Deadpool’s lovely white dress. Peter didn’t even think. He just reacted, hand shooting out with inhuman speed to catch the wayward condiment safely in his glove.</p><p>“Careful,” he said, webbing a napkin over and wiping the glove off. “I bet that fabric’s a bitch to spot clean.”</p><p>When he looked back up, Deadpool’s mouth was slack with awe. “You’re my hero,” the merc said, and Peter felt sure that the words had come out far less facetiously than intended. Whether out of embarrassment or betrayal, Deadpool chucked the offending hot dog away from him. Even without any windup or apparent effort, it jettisoned off into the night, and Peter was left staring helplessly at the alpha’s bulging arm muscles.</p><p>“Well,” Peter swallowed hard, “what you’re doing, with the Deadpool Special? <em>That’s</em> heroic. I wish more people with money chose to use it like that. I’m really proud of you, Wade.”</p><p>Deadpool let out a funny, muffled little squeak before clamping his hand over his mouth. Peter awkwardly patted the merc’s silk-covered knee and stood.</p><p>“I’ll be happy to pass on the info to anyone who looks like they could use a hot meal. Thank you for setting that up, and thanks for the snack. I gotta get going, but for the record... I miss—” No, nope, abort! Peter just couldn’t say it. “—patrolling with you too. Night, Pool.”</p><p>If Deadpool answered, Peter didn’t hear it because he was already swinging away.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>A week later, Peter had the dubious pleasure of hosting Deadpool for dinner again. Well, “hosting” might be too kind a term.</p><p>“You can’t just break into people’s apartments, Deadpool,” Peter sighed as he trudged inside.</p><p>“Petey! You’re home!” The alpha hopped off the couch, blatantly brushing crumbs off his pants and onto the floor, and came over to greet him. “Happy weekend, you cute little breadwinner! TGIF and all that! Also, I very clearly <em>can</em> just break in. Easily, in fact. Your lock might as well have spread its legs and called me alpha.”</p><p>Peter groaned but submitted to the hug and friendly scenting that Deadpool subjected him to. “It’s Tuesday. Also, I misspoke. What I meant to say was, you <em>shouldn’t</em> just break into people’s apartments, Deadpool. It’s illegal. And more importantly, it’s rude.”</p><p>“Sorry sweetums,” the merc said, managing to sound somewhat sincere. “I thought waiting for you in here would be overall less creepy than staking out your apartment building til you got home. Also, it gave me enough time to set up your new Roku box!” Deadpool made jazz hands at the TV, which was currently playing an episode of Grace and Frankie.</p><p>“You’ve really got a thing for older ladies, huh?”</p><p>“They’re just so <em>dignified</em>,” Deadpool enthused, herding Peter over to the couch with all the excitement and finesse of an untrained sheepdog. The second Peter’s ass touched the cushion, the alpha was wrapped around him tighter than a condom. “Not to mention <em>foxy</em>. Who doesn’t like a lady with experience, right? Older women are the backbone of society, Petey-pie.”</p><p>The coffee table was littered with half-empty snack bags of potato chips, Cheetos, and the like. If Peter wasn’t careful, Deadpool was going to turn his apartment into a pigsty, just like the alpha’s disgusting safe house.</p><p>“Is this going to be a <em>thing</em> now? You invading my home whenever you feel like it?”</p><p>“And paying you back in grub and cuddles! That’s called a <em>symbiotic relationship</em>, baby boy. So what’re you in the mood for tonight?” Deadpool nuzzled Peter’s head affectionately, and Peter couldn’t help but feel somewhat mollified.</p><p>“I could really go for Indian,” Peter confessed. It’d been ages since he’d last indulged in some decent curry. A few of his coworkers had had it for lunch earlier, and Peter’s sad peanut butter sandwich had seemed even sadder when compared to the much more appetizing smells of spice and sauce and meat in the air.</p><p>“Well, I <em>have</em> been feeling a little backed up lately. Hell yeah, let’s DoorDash the shit out of some Indian food!”</p><p>“Huh,” Peter remarked as Deadpool pulled up the app on his phone, “I kinda thought you were gonna fight me on that. You whined for three whole blocks about wanting empanadas the last time we didn’t do Mexican.”</p><p>“I’ll have you know that my culinary horizons extend far beyond the great nation of Mexico! In the wise and immortal words of Shrek, I have <em>layers</em>, Petey.” Deadpool tapped several buttons in rapid succession and then put his phone away.</p><p>“You <em>are</em> like an ogre in many ways,” Peter allowed. “Especially manners. Aren’t you gonna let me pick what I want?”</p><p>“What? Oh! Sorry, Pete, I already ordered for us! If you wanna order for yourself next time, talk faster.”</p><p>“Noted. But if I don’t like what you picked, next time I’m ordering for both of us.”</p><p>“Impossible! I have impeccable taste. <em>Now,</em>” Deadpool leaned forward until he was looming into Peter’s space, inscrutable white gaze boring into him. Peter automatically tensed in response to the somewhat threatening aura, though his spider-sense remained quiet. “I believe I was promised a selfie.”</p><p>Peter blinked and then outright snorted, muscles relaxing again. “Well, that depends. Did you delete the pictures you took of me? <em>All</em> of them?”</p><p>“Yes, yes, your adorable sleeping face lives on only in my sweetest dreams and fondest memories,” Deadpool confirmed impatiently. “I’d offer to show you my camera roll, but that’d make you an accomplice in just, so many crimes. Also, I’ve got some dick pics in there and I’d prefer it if your innocent eyes weren’t bleeding when we take our selfie together.”</p><p>Peter rolled his “innocent” eyes. “And you promise not to take more pics of me without getting my consent first?”</p><p>“Cross my heart, hope to die and stay very, blissfully dead.”</p><p>“Good enough for me.” Peter plastered himself to Deadpool’s side, sticking their cheeks together. “Go on, then.”</p><p>The alpha, who had instinctively started to rub his mask-covered cheek against Peter’s, cursed and fumbled to get his phone back out.</p><p>“Hang on,” Peter said when Deadpool finally managed to bring the camera app up and get situated. “Tell me a joke.”</p><p>“Come again?”</p><p>“You know, make me laugh! Let’s make this a real smile, not a selfie-smile. Trust me, I’m a photographer—it makes a difference.”</p><p>“Ohh, well if Mr. Instagram says it makes a difference!” Deadpool scoffed. “Okay, shut up, lemme think... Why did Captain America ask Spider-Man to fix his computer? He heard Spidey’s a web designer!”</p><p>The joke was so bad that Peter almost laughed on principle. “Seriously? That’s the best you can do?”</p><p>“But!” The merc doggedly continued. “Cap’s a technology-challenged old man and Spidey’s a nice guy, right? So he stuck around to explain the difference between him and a web designer—”</p><p>“Here it comes.”</p><p>“—spiders actually <em>like</em> bugs in their web!”</p><p>“Boooooo,” Peter made a thumbs-down gesture.</p><p>“Y’know what Spidey and I have in common, though?”</p><p>Unsure if this was a legit question or the setup for another bad joke, Peter guessed, “A fondness for red gimp suits?”</p><p>“So close!” Reflected back at them in the front-facing camera, Deadpool’s mask was stretched tight across his mouth in the way that indicated he was grinning widely. “We both end up with sticky hands after using the web!”</p><p>“Aw gross man, c’mon!” Peter could see himself cracking, an unwilling smile tugging at the corners of his lips.</p><p>“It’s true! But d’you wanna know what the main difference between me and Spider-Man is?”</p><p>“Oh god.”</p><p>“When Spidey shoots sticky white rope all over someone, people say he’s <em>amazing</em>— but when I do it, I'm a pervert!”</p><p>Peter cracked. Deadpool’s phone camera made several rapid shutter noises as he busted out laughing.</p><p>“That’s awful! You’re so awful!” He giggled, shoving the alpha without any real force.</p><p>“Made you laugh, didn’t it?” Deadpool growled playfully and put him into a mock headlock, noogying his head for good measure. “What’s that say about you, Petey?”</p><p>“It says you’re a bad influence. You’re corrupting me. I’m being corrupted!” Peter snatched Deadpool’s phone out of his hand and brought up the recent selfies.</p><p>“Little shit!” Deadpool laughed, pulling Peter back against him so they could both see the screen. “It’s a good thing you’re cute.”</p><p>Peter flipped through the pictures, deleting the blurry ones, until he was left with the single best shot of the bunch. Deadpool had managed to take it <em>right</em> when Peter had started to laugh; his grin was huge and sunny, eyes crinkled at the corners like they were already laughing before the rest of Peter could catch up. Beside him, Deadpool’s mask stared back, somehow managing to convey mirth. It was a really good selfie.</p><p>“<em>Ohh my god,</em>” Deadpool grabbed the phone out of Peter’s hand and brought it up to his face for a closer inspection. “Literal ray of sunshine. Living embodiment of Christmas morning. Who is this angel and what did he do with the little devil who uses me as a fainting couch and bites me for no reason?”</p><p>“In the wise and immortal words of Shrek—” Peter began mockingly.</p><p>“NOPE, no way, you do not get to use Shrek against me!” Deadpool interrupted, clapping a Cheeto-dusted glove over Peter’s mouth. “Why’re the cute ones always so ornery? Better question, why do I dig it so much? This is Cable all over again. God, that grumpy old fuck was hot. No, I’m not <em>comparing</em> them. That’s like trying to compare a taco to a burrito; they’re two entirely different animals—”</p><p>As Deadpool trailed off, muttering back and forth with himself, Peter stole the phone back and took another look at their selfie. He was confident that Deadpool had never seen that kind of smile on Spider-Man before. With any luck, this picture would solidify the differences between Peter Parker and Spider-Man in the merc’s head. In fact, he felt sure enough about it that he was willing to risk one more picture.</p><p>Peeling the gross glove off his face, Peter said, “Can you roll your mask up? I want one where I can see you smiling.”</p><p>“Very funny, Pete.” The cheer in Deadpool’s voice was noticeably falser. “I didn’t realize we were still making jokes.”</p><p>“That wasn’t a joke. But if you take another pic with me, I’ll tell you one,” he coaxed.</p><p>“You millennials are such camwhores. Can’t you stick to taking pictures of your food and leave me out of it?” Deadpool grumbled, but he did cautiously push his mask up over his nose.</p><p>Peter didn’t hesitate to press their cheeks together again. The scars felt bumpy but surprisingly soft against his skin, and the casual scenting seemed to relax Deadpool a bit.</p><p>“So,” he said, watching the alpha’s face in the front-facing camera with his finger poised over the shutter button, “I heard your dick is out of this world. Call that an astro-knot.”</p><p>Deadpool’s jaw dropped and he guffawed raucously, slapping his knee in delight. “You little hypocrite! How dare you disparage my dirty jokes then turn around and make a fucking <em>knot pun</em> at me!”</p><p>“It’s about knowing your target audience,” Peter said primly, already weeding out the blurry photos.</p><p>He was glad Deadpool had agreed to another, because this one was something special. Peter had caught the alpha mid-laugh, and his scars were hardly even noticeable behind that huge, contagious grin. (Deadpool had really nice teeth, he noticed wistfully. Dentistry and orthodontics were expensive, so his own teeth were slightly crooked. He was just lucky he hadn’t had to deal with any getting chipped or knocked out after so many years of getting into fights on a weekly basis.)</p><p>In the picture, Peter’s expression was almost achingly soft, reacting to Deadpool’s laugh with pink cheeks and a wide, fond smile that made him feel strangely vulnerable to look at now. His hair was a mess of fluffy curls from when the alpha had noogied him. If Peter didn’t know better, he’d think they’d taken the photo after a much more intimate moment than some stupid dick joke.</p><p>Handing the phone back to the merc, he asked, “Can you text this to me please?”</p><p>Quiet for once, Deadpool studied the selfie with a complicated expression on what Peter could see of his face.</p><p>“Good, right?” Peter prodded. “If you wanna hire me for professional headshots, I’ll give you the friends and family discount.”</p><p>“Ooh, will you shoot me like one of your French Spideys?” Deadpool simpered, surfacing abruptly from whatever headspace he’d been in. “Oh, now there’s an idea—I’ve got the <em>perfect</em> French maid outfit! Spidey’s pretty broke, right? How much do you think it’d take to bribe him to—”</p><p>“Offer redacted.”</p><p>“It would be very tasteful—”</p><p>“Not happening.”</p><p>“Ugh, fine, I’ll just pay some computer nerd to photoshop it!” Deadpool crossed his arms and sulked.</p><p>Peter wormed his way under the alpha’s arms and into his lap. Deadpool lasted an entire ten seconds before he broke down, pulling the omega more securely into his arms and scenting him thoroughly. Peter made himself comfortable, resting his chin on the alpha’s shoulder, and let himself be coddled.</p><p>This was nice. Peter missed this. He wished things would go back to the way they were a few months ago, when Deadpool was always around to talk and patrol and eat with. Just maybe with more cuddling, because touch starvation was no joke.</p><p>“Spidey asked about you,” Peter said, apropos of nothing.</p><p>Stunned, Deadpool stopped petting his hair and readjusted his hold so that he could make eye contact with Peter. “O-M-G, Spidey did <em>what</em>? Tell me everything. His exact words.”</p><p>“Uh,” Peter blinked up at him from where he was cradled in the crook of Deadpool’s arm. “I mean, he mainly just asked what you’ve been up to? He let me take some new pictures of him last week, and I mentioned that I met you and we’ve hung out a few times. He said that you haven’t been patrolling with him as much lately? And he asked if you’d mentioned what’s got you so busy. Not,” Peter hastened to add, “like he was suspicious of you or anything! Just like, I guess he figures you’re working some long mission right now, and I think it’s driving him a little nuts wondering why you won’t let him help, or at least give him a hint what you’re up to. I told him you and I don’t really talk about work, but... maybe you should talk to him? I mean, you guys are friends, right?”</p><p>“Friends?” Deadpool repeated blankly. He wasn’t looking at Peter anymore, but seemed to be staring at the wall to the right of the TV. “I dunno... He tolerates me on patrols, and we usually grab snacks together, but he never wants to come back to my place for movies or game nights. I’d say that puts us puts us pretty solidly in the realm of coworkers. I mean, I told him my real name the day we met, and he just used it for the first time the other day. So I guess I’m moving up in the world, but progress is slow.”</p><p>For the first time, Peter felt cold in the alpha’s arms. He wondered vaguely why he was so surprised by Deadpool’s analysis. The merc was right, of course, but he’d never seemed to <em>mind</em> Peter’s blow-offs or the use of his professional name. When it came down to it, Deadpool had always treated Spider-Man with friendliness and familiarity, like they were already old friends. He supposed he had just assumed that <em>Deadpool</em> had assumed they were friends.</p><p>“Deadpool... what’s your name?”</p><p>The alpha side-eyed him with a little smirk. “You wanna be friends, Petey?”</p><p>“I kinda thought we already were,” he admitted.</p><p>The smirk softened into a genuinely pleased smile, and Peter’s traitorous heart beat a little faster when Deadpool took his hand and smacked a kiss on the back of it. “Wade Winston Wilson, at your service, sweetums.”</p><p>Peter caught Deadpool’s hand before he could take it back and squeezed gently. He couldn’t help but notice that the merc’s own heart skipped a beat when he did so. (Thanks, super hearing, for that incredibly invasive information.)</p><p>“Peter Benjamin Parker. Happy to officially be your friend, Wade.”</p><p>“Back atcha, baby boy.”</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>Stuffed to the brim with delicious curry and practically swimming in the scent of alpha contentment, Peter caught himself dozing off twice before he decided it was a losing battle.</p><p>“You should probably go,” he managed around a yawn. “I’ve got work in the morning, so... bedtime.”</p><p>“I’ve been told I make an excellent bed warmer,” Deadpool said hopefully.</p><p>It was a tempting offer, if Peter was being honest with himself. Twisting slightly in the alpha’s hold, he burrowed himself deeper into the embrace and nuzzled his face into the crook of Deadpool’s neck, sleepily scenting him. They were pretty aggressively covered in each other’s scents by this point, but the act itself was comforting even if it wasn’t necessary.</p><p>“Maybe next time,” he sighed, pulling back before he could get too comfortable. “Good night, Wade. Don’t forget to text me those pics.” He bumped his forehead against the alpha’s affectionately and swayed to his feet, stumbling toward the bedroom.</p><p>“G’night, Pete,” Deadpool whispered behind him.</p><p>Peter was fast asleep before the merc finally gathered himself enough to leave the apartment. In the morning, the first thing Peter would see after he turned off his phone alarm was the picture of his and Wade’s smiling faces. It was a nice way to start the day.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Just two bros giving each other bro jobs. No need to put a label on it.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was the small hours of Friday morning and Peter was calling it a night. Patrol had been fairly quiet. November in New York was cold and damp and miserable; nobody wanted to be on the streets for longer than necessary. He certainly didn’t.</p><p>So, when a store alarm went off a few blocks over, he felt justified in whining <em>“oh come on!”</em> as he changed the direction of his swing.</p><p>The store in question turned out to be a 24-hour drugstore. The single employee that Peter could see behind the counter looked young – fresh out of high school, if he had to guess – and they were already on the phone with the police. This was probably their first robbery, if the wide-eyed look of dismay was anything to go by.</p><p>The thought of any kid having to stare down the barrel of a gun over the contents of a cash register made Peter grit his teeth and focus. With the night being as quiet as it was, picking out the irregular sound of footsteps sprinting away through the nearby alleys took hardly any effort. (He hadn’t heard the raised voices of a team or the squealing tires of a getaway car, so Peter felt it was safe to assume that the runner was his only target.) He took off, swinging down the nearest alley, mentally calculating where to intercept—</p><p>His spider-sense went off.</p><p>Something was coming at him fast on the right, and there was no time to change his trajectory before another body collided with him, hard. They crashed into the left alley wall. Peter recovered from the surprise quickly and stuck himself to the wall, but his assailant lost their grip on him and started to fall. They were only about a story up – so unless they landed very wrong, it wouldn’t kill them – but Peter instinctively grabbed their wrist anyway. Their extremely familiar red-and-black wrist.</p><p>“Deadpool?” Peter said incredulously. “What the hell are you doing?”</p><p>“Aw, now I need a reason to chat with my favorite spider?” Despite the fact that he was currently dangling by his wrist almost a story in the air, Deadpool seemed to be in high spirits.</p><p>Peter dropped him.</p><p>The merc landed easily on his feet and straightened up as Peter touched down beside him, already recalculating where to capture the thief.</p><p>“I’m in the middle of something,” he said, distracted. “Let me catch this guy and we’ll talk after.” Peter lifted his arm to shoot out a new web, but Deadpool was suddenly in his way again.</p><p>“No can do, Webs! I’m afraid it can’t wait.” The merc’s gloved fist clamped down on Peter’s wrist and redirected it just in time to spit an ineffectual glob of webbing at the ground. “Heh. That kinda looks like—”</p><p>Peter pried Deadpool’s hand off and shoved him backwards into the wall, webbing his torso to it for good measure. But, when he turned to swing away, his spider-sense alerted him again. By the time he’d spun back around, Deadpool had a sword in his hand and he was free.</p><p>“How did you—” Fuck. Right. Deadpool’s katanas were made of nano-ceramic fiber composites, one of the few materials capable of slicing through Peter’s webs like butter.</p><p>“Just hear me out, Webs!” The merc was already sliding his sword back into its scabbard and raising his empty hands in surrender. “Promise I’ll make it quick.”</p><p>“Spit it out, then!” Peter snapped. The perp’s footsteps were getting harder to distinguish the further away they got.</p><p>“That thief, from the drugstore? You should let him go.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“I was there – stocking up on XL knot condoms – and I saw it go down. He didn’t even go near the register. Just snuck some medicine and non-perishables and baby food into his backpack and took off. <em>Baby food</em>, Spidey! I’m not about to let you become the Javert to his Jean Valjean!”</p><p>“Oh,” Peter said, wrong-footed after how quickly the wind had left his sails. Stealing necessities was a different matter entirely. Peter almost always let those cases slide, unless the thief used excessive violence or whoever had been robbed was just as in need.</p><p>“That’s not to stay I’d’ve stopped him if he <em>hadn’t</em> taken the baby food, though, ‘cause I definitely wouldn’t have. Far as I’m concerned, if a guy’s desperate enough to risk jail time for some canned food and painkillers, he can keep ‘em. That store’s a chain anyway, so no harm done—”</p><p>“Wade,” Peter interrupted, “why didn’t you just <em>say so</em>, instead of acting like you were gonna physically fight me?”</p><p>“C’mon Webs,” Deadpool scoffed. “You’ve gotta know how single-minded you get when crime’s afoot! How many taco-shaped tokens of my affection have ended up splattered all over the sidewalk because you spidey-sensed some nearby injustice?”</p><p>“You’re saying you were gonna fight me because—”</p><p>“Because it was the only way to make you stop and listen to me. I couldn’t let my best hero buddy play himself like that! Can you imagine how dumb you’d’ve looked if you webbed the guy up and gave him the whole <em>robbery is bad</em> spiel, just to hear his side of the story and feel like a total jackass?”</p><p>“I’m kind of feeling like a total jackass right now actually,” Peter admitted. “Sorry for brushing you off. And for getting... <em>hostile</em> without hearing you out first. I’ve gotta work on that.”</p><p>“Don’t sweat it, Spider-buns! People usually assume the worst about me. I don’t hold it against ‘em, ‘cause half the time they’re right!”</p><p>“I don’t know if that’s true. I think you might just let them believe that.”</p><p>“Well, you know. I’m a riddle wrapped in a mystery shoved up the ass of an enigma, and all that. Just a real Russian nesting doll of skullfuckery.”</p><p>Peter snorted. “That I won’t argue.”</p><p>“Then we have come to an agreement!” Deadpool grabbed and shook Peter’s hand decisively. “On that note, I’ll be off! Our little 24601 wasn’t very careful about keeping his face covered around the cameras, so I’ve got some security footage to sanitize. Smell ya later, Spidey!”</p><p>The merc took off down the alley, and Peter webbed himself to the roof just in time to see him force the store’s back door open and slip inside. By the sound of it, Deadpool only had about a minute before the approaching police car arrived.</p><p>It was a close call. Just as the cops were entering the building and Peter was bracing himself to intervene, Deadpool reappeared at the back door. He spotted Peter immediately and gave him a jaunty little A-okay gesture. Then he turned and literally skipped away.</p><p>Peter shook his head and swung home with a tired little smile hidden beneath his mask.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>Peter [Friday 7:48 PM] </strong>
  </p>
  <p>So I’ve been craving pizza literally all day, and my neighbors were having Domino’s delivered when I got home just now... ngl I almost cried when the delivery guy passed me in the hall</p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>DP [Friday 7:48 PM] </strong>
  </p>
  <p>i diagnose u with human</p>
  <p>wait did u say dominos????</p>
  <p>they live in ny fuckin c and they got fuckin DOMINOS????</p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>Peter [Friday 7:49 PM] </strong>
  </p>
  <p>I know, it’s a disgrace  </p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>DP [Friday 7:49 PM] </strong>
  </p>
  <p>jesus u rly must b desperate if fuckin DOMINOS got u horny 4 pizza</p>
  <p>what’s ur fav kind</p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>Peter [Friday 7:50 PM] </strong>
  </p>
  <p>Don’t really have one? Never met a pizza I didn’t like (even Domino’s if I’m being really honest)</p>
  <p>What’s yours</p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>DP [Friday 7:50 PM] </strong>
  </p>
  <p>4 the sake of our relationship im gonna 4get u said that</p>
  <p>pineapple and olive babeyy</p>
  <p>sweet n salty, just like u &lt;3</p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>Peter [Friday 7:51 PM] </strong>
  </p>
  <p>Sounds weird, just like you</p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>DP [Friday 7:51 PM] </strong>
  </p>
  <p>i can b there in 20 mins??</p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>Peter [Friday 7:51 PM] </strong>
  </p>
  <p>Bring it on :)</p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>DP [Friday 7:51 PM] </strong>
  </p>
  <p>OMW~!!!</p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>The pizza <em>was</em> weird, but also weirdly good? Peter wasn’t about to add pineapple to his list of favorite pizza toppings or anything, but it was better than he’d expected. The cuddling afterwards was better still.</p><p>Since Peter’s early morning patrol, the temperature had only continued to drop, and the miserable drizzle had evolved into full-on freezing rain. It was, as Aunt May used to say, perfect cuddle weather.</p><p>In addition to pizza, Deadpool had brought over a new blanket to not-so-subtly replace the threadbare one Peter kept on his couch. Not only was the new one softer than sin—it was also <em>weighted</em>. When the alpha casually draped this offering across Peter’s lap, Peter would admit (under duress) to having a bit of an “omega moment”. He couldn’t resist pressing his face against it, rubbing his scent into it, wriggling and tugging until he was completely enshrouded in the heavy fabric. It smelled strongly of Deadpool and much more faintly of Spider-Man. The merc must have gone home after their little scuffle that morning and wrapped himself up in it, covering it in both their scents.</p><p>Spider-Man’s “scent” was actually just his suit—Peter had designed it to release powerful synthetic alpha pheromones. This served the dual purpose of concealing his identity and marking Queens as his territory (and thus, under his protection).</p><p>After ten years of being Spider-Man, Peter considered that synthetic alpha scent to be just as much his own as his actual scent. Which made his reaction to the blanket a little complicated because, to his hindbrain, this was a courting gift. A compatible alpha in his pack had presented him with a nesting material that (unbeknownst to Deadpool) smelled of both of them together. And, when Peter added his natural omega scent to that mix, the result was such a heavenly, comforting blend of smells that he actually blissed out for a minute. Or two.</p><p>“Guess I’m not getting that blanket back,” Deadpool remarked after Peter had been purring away for a bit with no indication of reemerging. “Or that omega.”</p><p>That broke through Peter’s blissful haze, and he poked his head out enough to give the alpha a wide-eyed, suspicious stare. Deadpool’s masked gaze was on Peter, and his scarred mouth was stretched wide in a soft, goofy grin.</p><p>“I’m kidding, Petey,” he said fondly. “Of course the damn thing’s yours. I’m just kicking myself for giving you my own replacement. No more cuddles for ol’ Pool, hm?”</p><p>Peter, contrary little shit that he was, took that as a challenge. Dragging the blanket with him, he crawled up the couch and none-too-gently pushed Deadpool into the position he wanted. Namely, lying down on his back so that Peter could curl up on his chest and tug the blanket over both of them. With a warm, sturdy body beneath him and a soft weight above, Peter soon flattened into a satisfied omega-shaped pancake between them.</p><p>“Well, fuck me,” Deadpool said faintly. “What’s got you so sweet on me tonight, baby boy? If I’d’a known pizza and a blankie’s all it takes to get your little motor running, no way would I have wasted time on pasta or curry or even those enchiladas you liked so much. Sweet Canadian Christ, my heart can’t take this. Keep purring at me like that and I’ll melt into a goddamn puddle like the Wicked Witch of the West...”</p><p>Peter was gratified to know that he wasn’t the only one feeling especially affected tonight. The alpha sounded fuzzy around the edges as he continued to rumble reverential nonsense, and his gentle petting up and down Peter’s sides had taken on a sort of dreamlike lethargy.</p><p>It was strange, Peter mused, how overwhelming physical touch could feel after going so long without. He and Wade had cuddled several times now, but his body couldn’t seem to stop reacting like it hadn’t felt another person’s touch in years.</p><p>Then again, with the exception of Aunt May (and a handful of one-night stands), it actually had been years. Even before losing her, he hadn’t exactly been putting himself out there. The deaths of Gwen and Harry had hit him hard. He knew that distancing himself from others wasn’t healthy or sustainable in the long run, but—who had the time or money for therapy, right? Meanwhile, his busy work schedule and vigilante-ing had put a strain on his existing friendships with MJ and Betty. They still got coffee and caught up every now and then, but it was a far cry from how close they used to be.</p><p>Deadpool’s hands made another pass along Peter’s sides, and his skin tingled with the stimulation. If he’d learned anything about touch starvation, it was that every slight sensation seemed <em>amplified</em> to him now. In that way, it was almost like right after the spider bite, when he was still adjusting to his newly heightened senses. One of Deadpool’s leather gloves unexpectedly brushed the skin of his back – Peter’s shirt had hiked up a bit from all the petting – and a full-body shiver wracked his frame.</p><p>“Will you take your gloves off?” The question slipped out before Peter could think better of it. Skin hunger was a helluva drug.</p><p>Deadpool stilled beneath him for a moment before forcing a chuckle. “Trust me, Petey, you don’t want these ground beef hands getting ugly all over you. You ever put fish in the microwave? My skin looks the way that smells. And, given my not inconsiderable experience with touching myself, <em>can</em> confirm that it doesn’t feel great either. There’s only so much closing your eyes and thinking of Canada can do.”</p><p>Peter reached up and flicked the alpha firmly on the nose.</p><p>Deadpool flinched, more out of surprise than discomfort, and reflexively rubbed the sting away. “The fuck, Pete!”</p><p>“Talk shit, get hit,” Peter said. And then, in a shamelessly transparent manipulation attempt, he added, “That’s my friend you’re talkin’ about.”</p><p>“That’s your <em>friend</em> you’re smackin’ around,” Deadpool shot back, lower lip extended in an exaggerated pout.</p><p>Peter shrugged, unapologetic. “You know what they say about constructing intricate rituals. And seriously, Wade, I know you’ve got a– a <em>complex</em> about your skin, and it’s fine if you just don’t wanna take your gloves off, but don’t put that on me. I’ve seen your skin every time we’ve eaten together, and it’s never once bothered me. I only asked because you’re the only person I do—” Peter gestured vaguely, trying to indicate not just the cuddling but also the food and blanket and general hanging out thing. “—<em>this</em> kinda stuff with, and it’s just, it’s been awhile, you know? Haven’t had something like this in a long time.”</p><p>Peter’s clumsy but surprisingly heartfelt attempt at communication seemed to spark something in Deadpool, because the alpha ripped his gloves off in two jerky motions and showed Peter his hands.</p><p>“Like a naked mole rat post-dip in the Whataburger fryer,” Deadpool joked, wiggling his scarred, blotchy fingers so close to Peter’s face that he went a little cross-eyed. “Or a particularly demonic Chihuahua’s favorite chew toy.”</p><p>“Please,” Peter scoffed. “At worst, it’s Thing from the Addams Family, but with psoriasis. Quit being such a drama queen and get back to rubbing my back.”</p><p>“Such a bossy omega,” Deadpool said, and Peter didn’t think it was his imagination that the merc sounded a little watery. “Did you have your heart set on a backrub? I can rub other things too, y’know. To reiterate, I am <em>very</em> experienced with touching myself, and I’d be happy to provide a list of other parts that like a good rubbing. Or maybe you’d prefer a more hands-on demonstration—”</p><p>As Deadpool continued to talk, he slipped his hands under the blanket and settled them on Peter’s bare lower back. When Peter didn’t tense or tap out, he hesitantly slid his hands up under Peter’s shirt and resumed his slow, soothing strokes from before.</p><p>Neither of them were in any way prepared for Peter’s reaction.</p><p>Deadpool’s hands felt patchy – a strange, stimulating combination of rough and smooth – and the feeling of that interesting texture pressing gently against the bare skin of his back was <em>electric</em>. It was like receiving a full-body shock from Electro, only pleasurable. Peter jolted and shuddered involuntarily, arching back into Deadpool’s hands for more contact. He also <em>might</em> have let out an embarrassingly enthusiastic purr and bared his throat a little bit. Hardly at all, really. Deadpool probably didn’t even notice. The alpha’s aborted head movement toward Peter’s offered neck and accompanying whimper were probably unrelated.</p><p>This time, Peter’s the one to get hard first. He didn’t even have the excuse of Deadpool’s own horny pheromones turning him on. He just... got turned on. By Deadpool. And that was something he was going to have to come to terms with, eventually.</p><p>The alpha’s cock gave a sudden, startling twitch against Peter’s thigh and began filling out almost alarmingly fast. Peter’s arousal must have broken through his scent blockers and given him away.</p><p>“Logan’s hairy balls,” Deadpool groaned, hands slipping down to Peter’s lower back and making overtures at more dangerous territory. “Have mercy, baby boy! I think I just died for a second. Blood should <em>not</em> be able to leave the brain that quickly. What in the goddamn fuck’s got you so riled up today?”</p><p>“Your skin feels <em>good</em>,” Peter gasped, because his brain-to-mouth filter was broken, apparently. He squirmed, impatient, trying to get Deadpool to touch him more. “Don’t <em>stop</em>, c’mon—!”</p><p>“This is a dream.” Deadpool sounded incredulous even as he acquiesced to Peter’s demands. “That hyperspeed boner actually killed me. Where’s Death? She’s never been into threesomes before but maybe this time she’ll make an exception.”</p><p>Peter felt like a live wire, every hair on his body standing on end as Deadpool’s textured hands slid up and down his back. His spider-sense was buzzing dully, not in warning, but in hyper-awareness of the alpha’s every movement.</p><p>“Ooh, maybe she’ll show up halfway through with pizza and a pornstache—<em>Jesus Christ</em>!”</p><p>Peter had managed to line up their erections and was rubbing himself shamelessly against the alpha. Despite the dual layers of fabric in the way, the pressure and heat were enough to keep Peter moving, rutting against the line of Deadpool’s rock-hard cock until they were both breathing fast.</p><p>“That escalated quickly!” Deadpool panted, hips rocking upward in time with Peter’s downward motions. His hands were lingering at Peter’s waistband and starting to dip lower, like the siren call of Peter’s ass was too much to resist. “What happened to romance? I demand cheesy porn dialogue!”</p><p>“I could bite you again,” Peter offered snidely. His waspishness was somewhat undermined by the breathy quality of his voice.</p><p>“Yes please!” Deadpool tossed his head back, presenting his neck eagerly.</p><p>The alpha’s willing submission sent a thrill of surprise and arousal through Peter. Leaning forward until his lips were brushing against the visible skin, he said, “I bet you’ll come if I bite you.”</p><p>Deadpool’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “And there’s the cheesy porno talk I ordered! Way to make our first time special, Petey. I feel like the luckiest girl at prom.”</p><p>Despite Deadpool’s less-than-sexy analogy, Peter persisted. “Your heart rate and pheromone productions are elevated. I can feel your cock twitching every time I—” Peter ground his hips down pointedly and Deadpool’s dick jerked in response, straining against its fabric prison. “—do that. Those pants can’t be comfortable. I bet you’re starting to ache. So what do you think, Wade? Will you come when I bite you?”</p><p>“One sec, let me consult my magic dick ball,” Deadpool snarked back breathlessly. When Peter repeated the harsh grinding motion, the alpha cursed and conceded, <em>“Signs point to yes!”</em></p><p>Peter bit him.</p><p>And, as expected, Deadpool came.</p><p>Less expected was Deadpool’s hands slipping into Peter’s pajama pants and clamping down on his bare ass, pinning their cocks together while the alpha thrust wildly upward as he rode out his climax. Peter’s own orgasm hit him somewhere in the middle of this bucking bronco ride, and its intensity took him by surprise.</p><p>When he came back to himself, Peter found that his jaw was still clenched down on Deadpool’s neck. The alpha was lying perfectly still and pliant beneath him, waiting patiently for Peter to release him, which he did. Peter hadn’t actually broken the skin, but he licked over the fading bite mark to soothe it anyway.</p><p>“Should’ve worn the white pants today,” Deadpool whispered to himself dreamily.</p><p>Peter squirmed, trying to find a position where his cum-soaked pajama pants made him feel the least gross. (They were heat-friendly, and thus more absorbent than average, but they were still a little too damp for comfort at the moment.) He knew he should shower, or at least change his fucking pants, but his orgasm had left him feeling lazy and content.</p><p>“So,” he mumbled, “you and Death, huh?”</p><p>“Mm?” Deadpool sounded halfway to sleep already. “Oh yeah, she’s pretty great. And also super into me. I’m her <em>one that got away</em>—”</p><p>“Cool it, Katy Perry.” Peter flopped a hand over Deadpool’s mouth until he ceased his caterwauling. He had no way of knowing if this Death was a real entity or just an invention of the merc’s healing brain, and he suspected that he’d never know for sure. Still, he couldn’t help being curious about it. “What’s Death like? Is she an alpha?” He wondered aloud.</p><p>“Nah, she isn’t anything. She’s not even a <em>she</em>, per se; cosmic entities are pretty whatever about gender. Between you and me, I think she just likes the <em>aesthetic</em> of tits, because she usually appears to me as a skeleton with some <em>serious</em> honkers. I mean, just a truly <em>excellent</em> set of badonkers. I’m talkin’ a big ol’ pair of—”</p><p>“Skeleton with big breasts, got it,” Peter interrupted dryly.</p><p>“Jealous, Petey?” Deadpool teased.</p><p>“I have it on good authority that big breasts aren’t actually worth the trouble, so nah, I’m good.”</p><p>“Jealous that you’ve got some <em>competition</em> over this prime slab of alpha meat,” he clarified, puffing his chest up proudly.</p><p>“Why should I be?” Peter yawned. “Like you said, she can’t <em>keep</em> you.”</p><p>Deadpool was quiet for long enough that Peter thought he’d fallen asleep. He could feel his own body getting heavier. He really should get up and shower. He was gonna feel so gross in the morning if he didn’t.</p><p>Somewhere far away, he thought he heard Deadpool murmur, “Them’s fighting words, Petey...”</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>Peter woke up disoriented. He didn’t remember falling asleep, but he clearly hadn’t made it to the shower, because dried cum and slick were tugging unpleasantly at his skin and leg hair with every movement.</p><p>Deadpool must have wrapped him up in the weighted blanket and deposited him on his bed before heading out. He had no idea what time that had been; it was currently 7am, the scent was stale, and the merc hadn’t texted. It was probably for the best, he reasoned, that Deadpool had bailed. Mornings after were always awkward.</p><p>Peter sighed and begrudgingly freed himself from the blanket. He’d like nothing better than to roll over and go back to sleep, but he had a mess to clean up and a missed patrol to make up for.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>That night, Peter opened the door and was nearly bowled over by the scent of alpha in rut.</p><p>“Jesus, Wade! Why would you come here when you’re like that?”</p><p>“Like what? Do I have blood on me?” For his part, Deadpool seemed genuinely baffled by the question as he gave himself a quick once-over. “This suit isn’t even that dirty! I put it on special just this morning.”</p><p>Peter’s poor, bargain brand scent neutralizer didn’t stand a chance against the potency of Deadpool’s rut pheromones. He was pretty sure he’d be smelling horny, desperate alpha all week.</p><p>“Go home!” Peter blocked Deadpool from coming inside with his body. “Work through your rut in your own den, don’t come stinking up mine!”</p><p>“Rut?” Deadpool repeated in surprise. “Ohhh my god. That explains <em>so</em> much about how my day has been going! Wait, shut up, does this mean that omega was <em>flirting</em> with us?”</p><p>“What omega?” Peter asked (purely out of concern for the omega, of course).</p><p>“Oh, on my way over here, I saw some knothead creep trying to chat her up, makin’ her real uncomfortable. She gave him the whole <em>I’ve already got an alpha</em> shebang, he said she didn’t smell like it and kept following her, so I gave him a little taste of Deadpool’s rapist reform program.”</p><p>“What did you do.”</p><p>“Aw, nothing serious, just a little boot to the groin action. The official program is a bit more <em>permanent</em> than that. Anyway, she asked me to walk her home, and then she invited me up to her apartment for a thank-you drink—holy shit, she was <em>totally</em> trying to get into my suit, right? No omega invites a rutting alpha they don’t even know into their den unless they wanna hop on that knot! Maybe she thought I was Spider-Man?”</p><p>“Maybe she thought you’re fucking hot,” Peter muttered without thinking, absently eyeing up Deadpool’s shoulders and chest and thighs (god, his <em>thighs</em>). The alpha’s bicep was bulging slightly from carrying a heavy-looking bag that Peter hoped was takeout. He was starting to feel a little light-headed from the strength of the rut pheromones, and it didn’t help that he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. When his brain finally caught up to his mouth, he covered his flush with a scowl. “They’re gonna have to fumigate the floor if you keep standing out there.”</p><p>Deadpool’s mouth, which had gone slack with surprise, twisted itself into a lascivious grin. “Sure you don’t wanna invite me in, baby boy?” He purred, guttural and playful.</p><p>Peter glanced back into his bare, chilly apartment and groaned. It was a lost cause; Deadpool’s scent had permeated the air from the hallway. There was no way in hell this building’s cheap air filtering system was up to code.</p><p>“Give me the food,” he ordered. Deadpool handed the takeout bag over without a fight, and the pleasant smell of fresh Chinese food helped clear Peter’s head (or, at least, refocus his appetite where it was meant to be). “Go straight to the bathroom. Work yourself through this wave and clean yourself up with my scent-neutralizing soap after. Then you can come eat, but if I’ve finished all the crab rangoon before you get back, you’re not allowed to complain.”</p><p>“Deal!” Deadpool practically bowled Peter over in his hurry to get to the bathroom. Right before he shut the door, he added smugly, “I ate most of the crab rangoon on the way over here anyway.”</p><p>“You fucking suck, Wade!”</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>When Deadpool emerged, he smelled faintly of satisfaction and very little else. It was like his rut was already over, not just between waves.</p><p>“So,” Peter said as the hungry alpha finally started in on his dinner, “how the hell did you <em>not know</em> you were in rut?”</p><p>Deadpool shrugged. “I’ve got a lot going on. Boxes in my head. Terminal cancer. Perpetually healing from said cancer, amongst other things. It’s usually in my best interest to ignore whatever the fuck my body’s up to, so I’ve gotten pretty good at compartmentalizing. When everything else already hurts, what’s a little rut on top of that, y’know?”</p><p>“You’re in pain? Like, all the time?”</p><p>“Only when I think about it!” Deadpool said cheerfully. “So let’s put on something distracting.”</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>Deadpool’s excuse for showing up without warning turned out to be that he’d had a “death dream” – his term for the images his brain concocted when he died – in which he’d promised to bring Peter dinner that night. (The well-endowed personification of death didn’t always make an appearance, apparently; Deadpool suspected she was giving him the silent treatment.) He’d woken up after sundown thinking he was already late, and had been too disoriented to question whether or not the plans he remembered making were actually real.</p><p>“You <em>died</em> today? What the hell happened?” Peter demanded. And then, softer, “Are you okay?”</p><p>“Hazard of the job, sweetcheeks! You know me, aint nothin’ gonna keep ol’ Pool down for long. And hey, look on the bright side—you got a pretty sweet surprise dinner out of it!”</p><p>Peter didn’t want to let this go. He wanted to know what Deadpool was up to, and why he’d died, and why he wouldn’t even let Spider-Man in on the big secret.</p><p>But Peter Parker was a civilian. Peter Parker didn’t get to ask those questions. All Peter Parker could say was “glad you’re alright” and “thanks for dinner”.</p><p>“Aw, it’s no trouble at all, Petey-pie!” The alpha ruffled Peter’s hair affectionately. “Ooh, maybe the next time I die, I’ll bring you churros!”</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>Deadpool didn’t seem to have the attention span necessary for a movie that night, but as it turned out, he really liked cooking competition shows. Specifically, <em>yelling</em> at cooking competition shows.</p><p>“Jesus Christ, how did he burn his hazelnuts <em>twice</em>? Either turn down the heat or stop walking away from them! If Scott Conant makes one more smug comment, I’m gonna shove a red onion down his throat myself! WHY THE FUCK IS THERE ONLY ONE ICE CREAM MACHINE?”</p><p>“Wade, for the love of god,” Peter hissed, “my apartment has walls the width of single ply toilet paper and my neighbors have a fussy infant that starts screaming if I <em>think</em> too loudly. Please acquaint yourself with an inside voice or I’ll acquaint your knot with my garbage disposal!”</p><p>“This game is rigged to hell, Pete!” Deadpool whined at a thankfully much more manageable decibel level. “Also, I would <em>not</em> have called that you’re into torture porn! It’s always the quiet ones.”</p><p>“You’re a menace,” Peter said, not unfondly.</p><p>“And you’re the second person to confuse me for Spider-Man today!”</p><p>Peter beaned him with a fortune cookie to the head in retaliation. Deadpool shoved the whole cookie into his mouth, and then spat out the wet sliver of paper into his gloved hand.</p><p>“You have an ass like Meat Loaf—it just won’t quit,” he read aloud. “Oh my god, the cookie also thinks I’m Spider-Man!”</p><p>He tossed the disgusting, spit-covered fortune onto the table, where Peter could see that it actually read, “Don’t get stuck in a rut.”</p><p>“Hey Wade,” Peter said in what he hoped was a casual and not creepy way, “is your rut over already?” He hastened to add, “I’m just curious, ‘cause it seemed like you were in the thick of it earlier, but now it smells like you’re not in rut at all?”</p><p>“Ah, my favorite sleepover game—invasive personal questions. Do I get to ask specifics about your heat cycle next?” Deadpool leered.</p><p>Peter flushed and looked away, mumbling an apology into his blanket cocoon.</p><p>“I’m just teasin’, Petey. My healing factor treats rut like a disease, so my cycle’s almost as erratic as I am. The waves that do make it past my mutation tend to be short, but intense. Like Wolverine.”</p><p>“Huh. I guess that’s not so bad.”</p><p>“So, what’s heat like, baby boy? Daddypool wants <em>all</em> the dirty deets—”</p><p>“Fuck off, Wade.”</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>Peter woke up right where he’d gone to sleep: on his couch, with his head on Deadpool’s shoulder. The TV was still droning on in the background, but Deadpool wasn’t talking at it anymore. Instead, he seemed to be whispering feverishly to himself—which was, honestly, not at all strange for him, and Peter was pretty sure it wasn’t what had woken him up.</p><p>His spider-sense was quiet. Deadpool’s arm was still wrapped tight around Peter’s waist, but he could feel faint movement... the shoulder beneath his head was shaking very slightly.</p><p>“For Pete’s <em>literal</em> sake, White, I’m trying to concentrate here,” the merc muttered. “Jesus diddling Christ, this is giving me flashbacks to all those lonely barracks nights.”</p><p>That was when the heavy smell of rut filtered through Peter’s sleepy brain, and a slick, barely there sound that he had assumed was part of the cooking show took on a whole different meaning. Deadpool was in the throes of another rut wave, and...</p><p>Peter’s eyes opened reflexively. Yep, that was Deadpool’s dick. Deadpool’s dick was out, on Aunt May’s old couch, when Peter was <em>right fucking there</em>. The gloved fist that had been sliding carefully over the alpha’s erection came to a sudden stop.</p><p>“Uh... this is all a dream,” Deadpool tried. “Look over there, Captain America’s taking his pants off! Wow, get a load of that patriotic ass. Ooh, he’s bending over!”</p><p>Peter couldn’t tear his eyes away from the alpha’s dick if he wanted to. He was pretty sure he couldn’t even blink. Deadpool’s cock was thick and textured with scars. They were different from the ones on his hands—these scars were less gnarled and more delicate, probably due to the sensitive area’s thinner, fragile skin. The foreskin had been pulled back, and the cockhead was red and leaking precum all over the alpha’s gloved fingers. Near the base, his knot protruded slightly but was nowhere near fully inflated.</p><p>“Wade,” Peter said, still staring, “what happened yesterday was <em>not</em> blanket permission for you to go getting your rocks off in my apartment whenever you feel like it!”</p><p>Deadpool’s blasé facade crumbled immediately. “I’m sorry!” He whined even as his fist gave another aborted pump, and another fat drop of precum formed at the slit. “I didn’t wanna wake you! Last time I did you kinda flipped, remember? But Little Wade was starting to <em>hurt</em>, and these pants are <em>not</em> boner-friendly, and—wait, what happened yesterday?”</p><p>“What – you – we – what do you mean <em>what happened yesterday</em>?” Peter sputtered. “Dry humping to completion isn’t exactly an ordinary occurrence between us!”</p><p>“That was <em>real?</em> You fucking dicks, you told me I made it up! Oh fuck off, Yellow, you think you’re so fucking funny—”</p><p>“Wade—”</p><p>“Then you should’ve fuckin’ said so! Petey, describe it to me like you would to a blind man; Yellow doesn’t think it went down the way I remember, and White’s still not sure it happened at all—”  </p><p>“Wade, focus! You were in the middle of justifying to me why your dick is out right now, instead of taking care of your rut in private like a normal person.”</p><p>“Oh. Right.” Deadpool looked down at the dick in question, which was still harder than vibranium despite the disruption. “I really didn’t want to wake you. And I thought you were <em>out</em>-out, so I figured if I was really careful—”</p><p>“You could what exactly? Dump a knot-load of cum all over your own lap and somehow clean that up without me finding out?”</p><p>Deadpool moaned in equal parts misery and arousal. “Don’t say sexy things when you’re mad at me, it’s one of my kinks!” His erection twitched hard in apparent agreement, and the gloved hand made another quick trip up to the cockhead and back down. And then another.</p><p>“<em>Really?</em> I catch you jerking off on my couch, and you just keep going? I’m right here!”</p><p>“That’s not actually a turnoff, in case you were wondering!” Deadpool was starting to pump himself with greater urgency. The sight of that hydrophobic leather glove against the alpha’s rut-sensitive dick had Peter wincing in sympathy. Even with a healing factor, that couldn’t be comfortable.</p><p>“God dammit, give me that!” And then, with very little thought involved, Peter was knocking Deadpool’s hand aside and replacing it with his own, which he’d licked hastily to provide a bit more lubrication. “If you think I’m gonna let you get spunk all over my couch, you’ve got another thing coming,” he warned the shocked alpha.</p><p>“Oh god, please say it’s me,” Deadpool begged, squirming deliciously while Peter tightened his grip and started massaging the knot. “I wanna be the thing coming!”</p><p>“I’m a gracious host, so I’m gonna do what I can to help you out here, but if even one drop of jizz touches this couch, I’m making you pay for a professional cleaner.”</p><p>“Fuck yes, whatever you want!” Deadpool’s head was thrown back, hips helplessly thrusting up into Peter’s hand.</p><p>Peter got the impression that he’d agree to just about anything right now. To test this theory, he added, “You also owe me a large order of crab rangoon.”</p><p>“Deal!” The alpha panted. “Why isn’t all extortion this erotic?”</p><p>Satisfied, Peter increased the pressure and speed with which he squeezed, twisted, and released the knot, mimicking an omega’s body during orgasm. With his other hand, he alternately used the foreskin to stimulate the frenulum and rubbed the pad of his thumb along the dripping slit. Deadpool’s dick was fever-hot and throbbing, and Peter couldn’t help but imagine what that interesting scar texture would feel like inside of him. If it was anything at all like how the alpha’s hands had felt against his bare back (and ass), Peter wouldn’t be surprised if the resulting climax permanently blinded him.</p><p>“Jesus, baby, you’ve got a grip that could pop stress balls!”</p><p>“Shit, I’m sorry—”</p><p>“Nonono, don’t stop, it was a compliment!” Deadpool’s hands were digging into the cushions, and Peter was starting to think that cum stains were the least of his couch’s worries. “Bet you’re one of those nerds who uses those finger exercise toys at your boring desk job. Can you do fingertip pushups? Fuck, that’d be so ho-<em>aaaahnghhh</em>—”</p><p>The alpha’s banter was rapidly devolving into loud, indulgent moaning. And, while undeniably proud of (and turned on by) this, Peter still had neighbors.</p><p>“As pretty as you sound right now,” he said, “how about you stop squeezing the life out of my cushions and put your hands over your mouth? Sorry, but my walls aren’t getting any thicker.”</p><p>“I’ll tell you one thing that <em>is</em> getting—” The word <em>thicker</em> was muffled to the point of incoherence as Deadpool obeyed.</p><p>“Yeah, yeah. Shut up and come already, <em>alpha</em>.” Peter clenched his fist down hard around Deadpool’s knot while simultaneously bending to suck the head of his cock into his mouth. He’d barely gotten his tongue inside the foreskin before it was over.</p><p>Deadpool came with a muffled shout, and Peter dutifully swallowed down the hot cum that flooded his mouth. He worked the alpha through his orgasm patiently, not removing his lips from Deadpool’s dick until the irregular spurts of cum ceased and his knot began to deflate. When Peter finally pulled off, he wiped his mouth and took stock of the situation. Deadpool’s cock was glistening with Peter’s saliva and a few errant drops of jizz were drying on his tactical suit, but the couch seemed to have been spared.</p><p>“Hoo boy, I think I blacked out there for a second,” Deadpool said, sounding loopy and utterly satisfied. “Can’t wait to jerk off to this. My dick’s getting friction burn just thinking about it.”</p><p>“You’re insatiable,” Peter groused, taking a long drink of his lukewarm soda to wash away the salty taste of semen.</p><p>“And <em>you’re</em> horny,” Deadpool pointed out. He backed up this point by reaching down to lay his big, gloved hand over Peter’s tented erection.</p><p>Now that his single-minded focus to get Deadpool off had subsided, awareness of his own physical state was trickling back in. And, yeah, the alpha had pretty much hit the nail on the head. Peter was hard, and wet, and just all-around incredibly aroused.</p><p>Even through the blank stare of his mask, Peter could feel Deadpool’s gaze burning into him. It didn’t set off his spider-sense so much as it left him feeling charged, buzzing like the atmosphere before a lightning storm. He couldn’t help pressing up into the heat and pressure of that hand, already close just from all the rut pheromones in the air (and maybe seeing Deadpool fall apart in his grasp had been a <em>little bit</em> of a turn-on).</p><p>“Let me return the favor,” Deadpool coaxed, rubbing just firmly enough to send a spike of pleasure up Peter’s spine, and just gently enough to be the worst sort of tease. “C’mon, Petey, if anyone deserves to have their brain sucked out of them like their cock is a glorified silly straw, it’s you.”</p><p>“You – you wanna—?”</p><p>“Choke on your cock? Shove your pretty omega dick so far down my throat that I can feel it in my jellies? Suck on it forever, like an Everlasting Gobstopper? Yes, yes, and <em>hell yes</em>, baby boy.”</p><p>Well, what the fuck was Peter supposed to say to that? No? He was clinically depressed, not celibate!</p><p>“Fine,” he acquiesced, with as much dignity as one can expect given his current predicament.</p><p>Deadpool grinned wide and smug, but wisely chose not to comment on the fact that Peter’s dick was already twitching with excitement beneath his palm. The alpha then proceeded to tip himself sideways so that he was splayed out across the couch like a lewder version of that scene from Titanic.</p><p>“C’mere,” Deadpool beckoned, patting his pecs invitingly.</p><p>“Is there a reason your dick’s still out right now?”</p><p>“Don’t mind him; he just needs a little breather before I send him back into solitary confinement.”</p><p>Peter sighed but obligingly crawled forward until his knees were on either side of the alpha’s neck and he was practically sitting on his shoulders. Despite the slightly awkward position, Deadpool looked perfectly comfortable when he toyed with the elastic waistband of Peter’s sweatpants and purred, “May I?”</p><p>The sweats were well-worn and stretchy, and they slid down to his mid-thighs without a problem. That was, of course, when Peter remembered that he hadn’t done laundry in awhile and therefore had foregone underwear. His cock bobbed free and, more embarrassingly, his slick-streaked inner thighs were put on full display.</p><p>“Commando, Petey?” Deadpool asked appreciatively, stroking his hands up and down the outside of Peter’s thighs before creeping around back to grab two handfuls of ass. “Mmm, there it is, Daddy missed you! Sweet Thor Almighty, baby got <em>cake!”</em></p><p>Before Peter could do much more than shiver at the feeling of gloved hands massaging his ass, Deadpool used his grip to pull Peter forward towards his mouth. He was a little overenthusiastic about it and the tip of Peter’s dick bumped none-too-gently against Deadpool’s puckered lips, but the alpha just made an exaggerated kissy noise and laughed.</p><p>“Thank you for riding Deadpool’s face,” he said, in what Peter could only describe as a horrendously Customer Service kind of voice. “Please remain seated, secure all loose items unless you have a kink for being pickpocketed, and enjoy your ride!”</p><p>Peter was about to ask if Deadpool had actually robbed someone while blowing them before, but his ability to speak was (ironically) stolen when his dick was sucked straight down the alpha’s throat.</p><p>Jesus Christ.</p><p>Not only could Deadpool deep-throat like a fucking pro, but he was actually <em>encouraging</em> Peter to rock forward harder and faster. Before long, he was flat-out fucking Deadpool’s face. The presence of his sweats around his thighs made Peter’s movements feel somewhat restricted, but that only added to his excitement, if he was being honest.</p><p>“Fuck, Wade,” he gasped, unable to look away from the obscene image his cock made sliding in and out of Deadpool’s mouth. “You’re really fucking good at this. Never met an alpha who could suck cock half as good as you.”</p><p>Deadpool made a pleased sort of humming sound that vibrated deliciously up his cock. Peter’s hands, which had previously been resting on Deadpool’s broad shoulders for balance, were now on each side of his neck, teasing that bare, scarred skin right where the mask was pulled away. Despite being hidden beneath the suit, he could tell that the alpha’s mating glands were still swollen with rut, and he automatically massaged them to release any hormone buildup.</p><p>Deadpool let out a muffled, pitiful moan, and Peter’s rhythm faltered as he drew close to the edge. One of the alpha’s hands slipped from his ass down to his dripping hole and <em>pressed</em>, just hard enough that the very tip of his finger sank into the willing flesh.</p><p>“<em>Ahh</em> – I – Wade, I’m—!” Peter doubled over Deadpool’s head as he came, gasping and shaking. It was the kind of full-body orgasm that left him tingling all the way down to his toes. Deadpool didn’t let up until the overstimulation made Peter pull out. His legs were shaky when he forced himself to stand up, but he couldn’t sit back down without getting slick everywhere.</p><p>That was when he saw the mess on the alpha’s stomach. Deadpool had, apparently, come untouched while sucking Peter off. The couch hadn’t been so lucky this time.</p><p>“Looks like you’ll be paying to have my couch cleaned after all,” Peter remarked, aiming for nonchalant and missing spectacularly. He pulled his sweats back up – ugh, he’d need to use his expensive heat detergent to get the slick stains out later – but being covered didn’t make him feel any less naked. Once is happenstance and twice is coincidence, he reminded himself firmly. Whatever was going on between him and Deadpool, it wasn’t a pattern yet.</p><p>“Beyond worth it,” Deadpool said, blissed out and completely oblivious to Peter’s awkward vulnerability. “Hell, I’ll pay for a brand spankin’ new couch. The real shit, not Ikea. My baby boy deserves the best.”</p><p>Peter’s heart lurched at the thought of replacing Aunt May’s couch. “Just the cleaners, Deadpool,” he said, perhaps more brusquely than intended. He fished a handful of napkins out of one of the takeout bags and dropped them onto the alpha’s cum-stained belly. “Dry yourself off. I’m gonna take a quick shower, then the bathroom’s yours.”</p><p>“What, no post-coital cuddles this time?” Deadpool pouted. “And we’re back to Deadpool now? My oral game must not be what it used to.”</p><p>“I feel sticky. We can cuddle after you wash up.”</p><p>“Or we could do the <em>economical </em>thing and shower together,” Deadpool offered salaciously.</p><p>“That would require you to actually get naked in front of me,” Peter pointed out.</p><p>“Have a nice shower, Petey!”</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>Peter fell asleep on the couch waiting for Deadpool to get done in the bathroom. He woke in his bed the next morning, bundled up like he’d been the previous day. The space beside him was cold, but still smelled strongly enough of Deadpool that he must have laid beside him for a while.</p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>DP [Sunday 8:53 AM] </strong>
  </p>
  <p>cleaners cumming @3pm!!</p>
  <p>on the subject of cumming</p>
  <p>thanx 4 givin me a hand earlier ;)</p>
  <p>and a mouth ;))</p>
  <p>my hands n mouth r urs anytime btw</p>
  <p>same goes 4 all my other parts</p>
  <p>if u know wat i mean ;)))</p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p>Peter snorted, rolled over, and went back to sleep.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>That afternoon, an innocuous-looking beta showed up on Peter’s doorstep at 3pm sharp.</p><p>“Is that all?” She asked, surprised, staring at the painfully unsubtle stain on his couch.</p><p>Peter’s ears burned with embarrassment. “Yeah, just that.”</p><p>“First time for everything,” she said with a shrug and started to unload her bag of cleaning supplies. “Usually when Deadpool calls me in for a speed-clean, it’s a fucking massacre.”</p><p>Knowing Deadpool, she probably meant that literally too. The old, familiar weight of suspicion and paranoia settled heavy in Peter’s chest.</p><p>“Does he... need your services often?”</p><p>“Not in a while, actually. This is the first job he’s called me for in, I dunno, six months? And he’s paying full-price for <em>one</em> little cum stain! Not that I’m complaining, I’ll take that jackass’s money any day of the week, but he could’ve hired a fucking maid for this.”</p><p>“More money than sense, that one,” Peter joked half-heartedly. Any relief he felt learning that Deadpool had apparently been behaving himself was already being replaced with guilt for doubting him. “Well, I’ll get out of your hair. Thanks for, uh... Thanks.”</p><p>“Don’t mention it.” Her expression turned severe. “Seriously. Don’t mention this to <em>anyone</em>.”</p><p>Peter managed to squeak out an intimidated <em>“I won’t!”</em> and escaped into the sanctity of his bedroom.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>Deadpool’s offer of reciprocation went unanswered for a grand total of one whole week. On the 7th day, heat simmering low in his belly, Peter called in the favor.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>PSA: if you see somebody shoplifting necessities, be like Deadpool and mind your own business!</p><p>Confession time! Although I have a fairly detailed outline of what’s going to happen in the next chapter, I haven’t actually started writing it yet. So y’all are in for a bit of a wait, I’m afraid. If you like the story so far, please toss a comment my way! It really helps to keep me motivated :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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